Obstinance Abounds
by Celestial Chaos
Summary: SPN/Charmed crossover. Eventual slash, future vignettes of Wincest. Dean and Sam believe they've seen everything supernaturally possible...until they meet Chris and Wyatt Halliwell. Who are they? Or more importantly, what? Permanently discontinued.
1. An Unexpected Encounter

**Author's Notes: **So, this story needs a little explanation about it beforehand, because if you clicked it, you're probably wondering how everything is going to work out. Well, I'm glad to share! Basically, this story is a revised (and modified for the sake of the flow of prose) version of a roleplay between me and a dear friend of mine. This started way back in February of 2008, right around the time he started getting heavily into Supernatural. I was kind of straddling the line between SPN and Charmed, myself, so I was back and forth. We came up with the idea of basically plucking Dean and Sam from the present day time line and throwing them into the "changed future" time line of Charmed, i.e. when Chris is about 22 and Wyatt, about 23.

As stated, this story will have eventual slash, and, what surprised my friend and me (we don't always know which way our characters might go--they tend to deviate frequently from what we want them to do) was that Dean and Sam occasionally got busy, too. So, this story will have Wincest. But, for the most part, it focuses on Dean/Chris. Two snarky, A-type personalities clashing just gets my senses all tingly. Haha!

This story really deviates from everything I usually write now--and by that I mean I try to stick as closely to the canon as possible, etc. All the characters remain true to themselves, but some liberties have been taken, and the two canons have more or less been melded together. It is important for readers to know that this story takes place **AFTER the end of Charmed** and **DURING season 3 of Supernatural**, predominantly after the episode "Jus in Bello". Time references are vague in the fic after that, and we did change some things (e.g. Sam still gets the occasional vision), so consider this a relatively heavy AU.

I'm posting this because I thought most people would find it fun and interesting to read. So, if it tickles your fancy, leave me a review letting me know what you think! I have a lot of threads of RP to go through (we played this storyline out for months), which I'll be editing to fill in blanks of where we plotted and didn't actually write into the stories, but left as backstory. POVs will change constantly--this will be a challenge for me, since he's the Dean and Wyatt to my Chris and Sam, and as such, some scenes will be seen only through the eyes of one--or maybe two--of the characters. This story pretty much revolves around the four of them. Other characters make appearances, but don't expect too many cameos!

I don't own either Supernatural or Charmed, nor do I own any of the characters therein. Alas.

This story is totally dedicated to him. Zane! :3

Enjoy!

* * *

They had been driving all night. Their destination at this point was unknown, save for the fact that it was on the west coast. Sam had become the sudden victim of visions once again, and this time, they came to him while he slept. Dean recalled his brother's fury and discomfort at having suffered through what Sam had called 'a living nightmare'. In his vision, he had seen distorted, broken images of injured children, crying desperately for their parents. The only clue that they had to it being on the west coast was the strange flashes of a certain type of tree whose name had escaped both of them, but that they knew was found only along the edge of the Pacific Ocean.

It was needless to say that the vision was powerful enough to spark their interest. Things had been quiet, _too_ quiet for Dean's liking. With Lilith on the move, they had to keep themselves on the ready. However, they couldn't forget their duty in the meantime.

Having driven for several hours without taking so much as a five-minute break, Dean soon could no longer ignore the call of nature. He pulled off of the interstate and headed down a somewhat busy street, the morning sunlight bursting past the thick, billowing clouds in the sky above. Within minutes he had found a diner for them to go to. His stomach gave a needy growl in anticipation.

Once Dean pulled into the parking lot, he reached over and nudged his brother. When Sam didn't budge, he nudged him again. "Hey, Sammy, c'mon, wake up. We're gonna get some breakfast."

The aforementioned vision wasn't the only thing from which Sam had suffered. Nightmares plagued his sleep, reminding him of the people killed in the police station not too long ago by Lilith. Dean had managed to shove it all under a metaphorical rug, whereas his brother couldn't seem to. About the only time he slept nowadays was when they were in the impala.

Sam stirred after a moment. He reached up and wiped his hand over the side of his face in a move Dean recognized as covertly wiping the drool from his cheek. He said nothing of it.

"C'mon," he repeated, before pocketing the keys in his worn, faded jeans and climbing out of the car.

Outside, he stretched his tense muscles and listened to the sound of his bones cracking and shifting. It would be nice to get out and move around a little.

"Where are we?" Sam asked, although his yawn distorted a good portion of his question.

"Somewhere off the interstate," Dean replied. "San Francisco, I think." He headed toward the diner's entrance and slipped inside. The bells hanging above jingled and alerted the servers to their presence, and soon Dean and Sam were led to a table nestled in the corner, near the front of the diner. The place had a real 50's feel to it, complete with the red, padded seats and the barstools lined up along the bar that dominated the middle of the place. What really did it for him were the triangular paper hats the servers were wearing.

He chuckled.

A woman dressed in what looked like a poodle-skirt knock off approached their table. She had black, coke-bottle glasses with powder-white skin and bright red lips. Her voice was oddly melodic.

"How can I help you gentlemen today?"

Dean, with his patented grin, said, "How 'bout some coffee to start?"

"Sounds good." The waitress smiled. "I'll be right back with that, along with your menus for you." When she gave a wink, Dean gave her one back, and that was when Sam snorted.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Do you _ever_ turn it off?"

"I could, but then, where's the fun in that?" The older Winchester shook his head and moved to stand. "Be right back. Nature calls."

In the time it took him to go to and come back from the bathroom, the waitress had brought their coffee and menus. Along the way out, Dean snatched today's newspaper from a nearby stand. With Sam's laptop in the car, they would have to use it as a means of gathering information for the time being. He slipped back into the booth and dropped the paper, heading right for the coffee before him.

Dean was used to running most mornings on coffee. The pungent aroma woke up his senses, and the taste of it felt like a healthy slap to the face. All the fatigue from driving seemed distant now. While his brother was busy looking up what he wanted on the menu, he opted for looking through the newspaper, heading straight for the obituaries. What he saw at the top of the page reminded him of exactly why they were there. It was the picture of a boy—no older than seven or eight—who, according to the obituary, had been murdered, and whose parents were still searching for the killer.

"Take a look at this," he said, folding the paper and extending it across the table to Sam, who picked it up curiously.

Although Dean couldn't be sure, the way that Sam winced a little and massaged his temple made him think that the image of the kid recalled what he saw in his vision. He took a quick swig of his coffee.

"This kid looks like the one in my vision," Sam confessed quietly, confirming Dean's suspicions. "At least we know we're on the trail."

It was good to hear that, in a way. Dean always had the feeling they were chasing shadows when they went after the hunches Sam had. But then, chasing shadows was a completely different problem, and Sam had a disturbingly accurate record as far as this stuff went. And when his visions were involved, there really was no doubting these things, even if he really wanted to.

Before Dean could say anything, their waitress came to take their order. Giving her a disarming sort of grin, he ordered some bacon and hash browns for himself, along with pancakes for Sam. When she left, he reached into the folds of his jacket, retrieving their father's journal. He could see the surprise registered on his brother's face.

"I don't feel comfortable leaving it in the car." That was all Dean said before he opened it up and started looking through it. He would have done so before they left Monument, Colorado, but they had been in such a hurry to get out of there that it had been impossible.

_Hindsight's always twenty-twenty_, he thought.

"Find anything?" Sam pressed after a little while.

"No," Dean sighed. "Nothing good, anyway. There's a lot of demons we could be going up against that do in kids. We could even be dealing with spirits. We'll need to try and narrow down the possibilities by getting more information. After we eat, we try and find the parents' house."

Sam nodded. He said nothing further, because soon thereafter their waitress came back with their breakfast plates.

Dean and Sam ate quickly, and in silence. When the time came for them to leave, their waitress gave them their bill, but they let her go, Sam cleared his throat and said to his brother:

"It sure is a real downer to read about kids getting killed in times like these, isn't it?"

It had been an intentional hook to catch the woman's attention, and to illicit information from her so they could narrow their search. As no address was given in the obituary—Dean knew it was a smart move on his brother's part. He nodded in agreement and said, "God, seriously."

That seemed to be enough to catch her attention. Turning, she sighed, and nodded fervently. "Isn't it? I just can't believe someone would murder an innocent little boy like that. I heard they had been planning on moving before this all happened…think of how hard that must be for them!"

Sam asked, "They lived right here in the city, didn't they?"

"Oh, yes," the waitress said. "I think it was near the waterfront? A _really_ nice property…" She sounded somewhat envious. "Anyway, those poor people. Losing a kid…I can't even imagine." With that she turned, heading toward the cash register.

Dean and Sam shared a look. Sometimes, it was almost disturbing how easy information fell into their lap.

When the waitress returned with their money, the two Winchesters left her a decent tip, slipped out of the diner and headed right back for the impala, Dean sliding into the driver's side and Sam, the passenger's. From the glove box the younger one retrieved their huge collection of maps, sorting through to find one for California. Meanwhile, Dean started up the car and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for the waterfront. Sam fed him directions all the while, and within about ten minutes, they found themselves driving along the street that was home to some of San Francisco's most luxurious waterfront homes.

"Jesus," Dean muttered as he glanced out his window. "You know, people would kill for homes like these. They probably even _do_. This place creeps me out a little."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "It's too…quiet. And I can't think of a better word than _pristine_. It's like nothing's out of place."

As they drove past, both paid special attention to any signs outside on the lawns that would signify that the house was for sale. After a few moments, they were in luck. A large, white, rectangular sign with the words _FOR SALE_ in bold red letters stood in the middle of one of the lush, green lawns. Sam pointed to it and Dean pulled up alongside the curb on the other side of the street. He killed the engine, which seemed obnoxiously loud in the disturbingly quiet neighborhood.

He turned to Sam. "What angle should we work, Mister Drama Club? Jehova's Witnesses? Mormons?" He smirked. "Boy scouts?"

All it took was one look from his brother to know that the wheels were turning inside his head. The taller one grunted a snort in response before saying, "Church goers seems best. Christians. Something about this neighborhood screams conservative Christian to me. I dunno why." He glanced over his shoulder at the back seat. "Our bibles are still back there, right?"

"Right."

"Then let's go with that. We're trying to find people to help pay for our fundraiser for children."

It always amused Dean to see how easy it was for Sam to come up with these elaborate tales about who they were and what they did. In any normal circumstance, this should have been completely abhorrent; they were going to the grieving family to pry out information, after all. But it was the fact that they would use that information to destroy a demon that made it okay in Dean's eyes.

"Let's get to it, then," he said.

In a matter of minutes, Dean and Sam expertly changed out of their street clothes and into the suits that they often wore when it came to acting as religious folk. Their suits were neat, clean and free of wrinkles, as they kept these in a dry-clean bag in the back in order to prevent that from happening. The fresh smell of the dry cleaners itself still clung to them.

"Got any names thought up, Sammy?" Dean asked once they were standing on the street. He adjusted his collar.

"I was thinking Chris and Adam." Sam smirked. "Unless you think those scream fanatical religious nuts."

Dean snorted. "Nah. They work fine. Chris sounds like a geek's name, but whatever. S'better than Adam." He ran a hand through his short air and then over his face, murmuring, "Wish I'd shaved." But then he looked up at Sam, his posture straight and a classic good-boy smile plastered on his face. "Ready, Adam?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, Chris."

The two Winchesters crossed the empty street and made their way toward the house with the FOR SALE sign pitched in the front lawn. The house itself was absolutely gorgeous—the entire house was set on a higher foundation, with a set of steps leading up to a large, open patio. There were four columns—two on each side—of the front, which attached to the rim around the patio and that supported the upstairs. The entire house was painted a cream color, which contrasted against the vibrant blue sky behind it. It had a classic, yet somehow modern feel to it.

When Dean and Sam approached the front door, both weren't surprised that it sported a thick pane of painted glass. The floral design within was surprisingly beautiful, with tulips, roses and a variety of other flowers all stretching outward from the center.

Dean was just about to ring the doorbell when he heard Sam whisper, "Let me do the talking this time." Not about to argue—Sam usually was more eloquent than him—he simply made an 'It's all yours' hand gesture, and then rang the bell.

A few moments after, a woman opened the door just slightly, peering out at the two of them. She looked thin, a little ragged, and had somewhat dark bags beneath her eyes. Her blonde hair—or what was visible of it—draped over her shoulders and around her face.

"Can I help you…?" she asked tentatively.

"Good morning, ma'am," Sam said, with all the ease of the world rolling his words along, "My name's Adam, and this is Chris. We're with the First Christian Church. We were wondering if we could have a few moments of your time to talk to you about a fundraiser we have for the children's program?"

Dean almost couldn't help the wince he felt as Sam spoke those words, because the look on the woman's face showed it all. She stared at them as her eyes teared up, and she then briefly covered her mouth with her hand.

"F-Fundraiser?" she asked, like she didn't quite understand what they were asking. Dean eyed her with concern, but she seemed to pull herself together and cough a little. "Yes…yes, please come in," she offered, stepping aside.

Once they were inside, the woman was nice enough to ask them to sit down. Both Dean and Sam sat up properly on the couch, with the latter looking at her with a smile.

"Chris and I, we've been a part of this church since we were little kids. And this fundraiser is designed to help bring money back into the programs for teaching the younger members of the church. Normally we don't go door to door like this," he added with a slightly uncomfortable chuckle, "but we're currently in the process of moving with our family, and our mom wanted us to go out and help the church while she and our dad worked on packing things up around the house."

As he'd motioned to his brother before knocking, Dean was letting Sam take the lead, and all the while he was scanning the interior of the home for anything suspicious with the EMF reader he had safely tucked away within the folds of his jacket. But nothing _looked_ out of the ordinary. Everything appeared to be in the beginning phases of being packed up, and it was all painfully..._normal_.

The woman seemed to be buying it, though, and she looked at the two of them with a sad, but polite expression. Dean figured Sam had the talking bit down pretty good, so he thought it would be an opportune time for him to do a little work of his own.

"I'm sorry," he broke in, looking apologetic, "but do you have a restroom I could use? Too much orange juice with breakfast." He smiled, figuring that that sounded wholesome and churchy.

"Oh, oh yes." The woman seemed a little surprised, but she gestured to the right. "It's just past the entry hall. Take a left, and you'll see the door by the stairs…"

With the go ahead from the woman, Dean made his way through the house, though instead of entering the bathroom he headed toward the stairs nearby. He pulled out the small device, sticking one headphone nub into his ear and holding the EMF reader in his palm as he crept up the stairs. Unfortunately, a quick sweep over the upstairs hall got zero readings, which pretty much ruled out spirit activity. He quickly zoomed through the other rooms up there—not failing to note just how many damn rooms the place had—and then made his way to the stairs' landing.

Dean cursed under his breath, making his way silently down the stairs again. No spirits meant it was something corporeal, like a demon. But, that was what he had figured it was before. Now, he just had confirmation. "Fucking demons," he muttered, making his way back towards the living room and taking the headphone out of his ear.

About the time that Dean returned, Sam was offering the woman his condolences, and was saying something about how the Lord must have had something in plan, and that it would all turn out all right in the end. Not exactly sure what they had talked about, Dean just apologized for having taken so long.

The sight of the woman crying, which normally didn't affect him so much, seemed to hit Dean square in the heart right then and there. He felt mildly uncomfortable, and so he cleared his throat. "I see we've caught you at an awkward time…" he started, moving over to Sam. "We'll go on and get out of your hair. We know how tedious it can be, trying to get things packed up." He took Sam's arm and began guiding him back towards the door, smiling all the while.

"Thank you for your time," Sam said, to which the woman just nodded and politely guided them back toward the door.

She shut the door behind them, and for a moment, the two boys stood on her porch before finally heading back to the car.

"So, what'd you find out?" Dean asked Sam while they crossed the street.

The younger one scratched the end of his nose, shrugging just a little. "She...was really reluctant to give too much up, but she told me that he never came home one night, and then they found him in an alleyway near the port, next to one of the big warehouses. No one knows what he was doing out there, apparently. That's all I got."

"Weird," Dean said. "What the hell's a kid that young doing all the way down on the port?" He shook his head. "Anyway, guess the next question is, do we go down to the port next, or do we go to the coroner and get the autopsy report?"

"The autopsy report would probably be smarter…" Sam mused. "How about autopsy today, then the port tonight?"

Dean nodded. It sounded like a solid plan. Undoing the tight collar of his suit, he then climbed into the impala again and gave a grunt of comfort when he slouched in the seat. He waited until Sam was inside as well before he said, "Let's go find a place to stay."

. . . . . . . . . .

It was surprising how quickly night fell.

It seemed like not too long ago, Dean and Sam were checking into a hotel near the waterfront, with Sam checking websites about other occurrences while his brother pretended to be a child services agent with the coroner in order to get more information. When he came back and shared what he had gathered, the two of them decided to go to the port that night for sure, since there now was no doubt in their mind that they were chasing a demon.

Sam was wearing a pair of loose jeans, a somewhat loose shirt and a jacket, too, just so he could move freely that night, in case they came across anything. He had a knife concealed and hooked to the side of his ankle, but part of him hoped that tonight they weren't going to run into the demon, and would be able to scope the place out in order to get themselves acquainted with the warehouse. That would give them the upper hand for sure...

When they pulled up to the port, Sam looked over it somewhat worriedly. He had learned earlier that another child had died here, too, the sad thing was that nobody even knew what in the world was truly going on. He couldn't wait to fix this.

"Ready, Dean?" he asked his brother.

"'Course I'm ready," Dean replied, giving Sam a smile and shutting off the car. He got out, slamming the door and moving directly to the trunk. With the knowledge of a demon being afoot, he armed himself with his favorite gun and a knife. Once Sam had gathered up a crossbow for himself out of the back, Dean said, "Alright, let's get in there and check this shit out," and then turned, glancing towards the large, dark warehouses that lined the port.

Sam took in a breath. "All right. So it looks like the main door is over there...and then the smaller side entry door is on the eastern side, by the alleyway where the kids were killed." When he stared over at it, he saw the strange light dipping overhead, casting an eerie glow on the wet concrete below it.

"Side door," was all Dean said, slipping his hand into his pocket and taking out the crooked paperclips he always kept there. "I doubt there's an alarm on a place this badly cared for. It looks like nobody's been here since the police were…"

The two of them approached the side entry door after that. Dean was on it quickly, fidgeting with the lock. It only took a minute to pick it, and once the door was open he moved in, turning on his flashlight.

And then he cried out.

"What?" Sam nearly yelped.

But then he saw it: the gigantic, ridiculous clown-face leering at them right in front of them. His reaction was instantaneous—the crossbow was up and he shot one of the bolts right at the clown's face. It bounced off the colorful, hard plastic and sprung off into the distance, hitting the floor with a loud, resounding clatter.

Sam chased the bolt with his eyes, but was immediately frozen in place by a strange collection of floating, white-blue lights that descended from the ceiling. He reached out and grabbed his brother's arm, jerking him behind several large, wooden crates that were stacked atop one another.

Dean had obviously been too absorbed by staring at the clown's face, because when Sam gripped hold of him, he tried smacking at him and muttered, "What the hell, bitch?"

"Shh!" Sam hissed.

Soon, a boyish voice echoed within the large, cavernous warehouse. Whoever it belonged to sounded annoyed. "What the hell was _that_? Is this place booby-trapped?"

Another voice, somewhat deeper, but also softer, soon replied, "Demons don't usually booby-trap with arrows, Chris." Annoyance laced his next few words. "Where is this thing? I wanna find it, vanquish it, and get out of here."

"All I know is that it's right here, somewhere in the warehouse," The first voice—Chris—offered, "When I scryed for it, that's what I got, so I bet it's just hiding, waiting to attack us. Come on, Wyatt."

Scrying? Demons? Sam wondered what in the hell these two guys were talking about. Well, no, he _knew_ what they were talking about. The question was, _why_? Had they chanced on another pair of hunters? That was the last thing they needed right now. Running into other hunters had caused nothing but problems…

"Sam—" Dean began.

"Shh!" Sam said immediately, nudging his brother again. "You hear 'em?"

"'Course I do, Sam, I'm not deaf. Jesus," Dean muttered irritably.

From not too far away, the second voice—Wyatt—tensed. "It's not the only thing here, Chris…"

Before Sam had a chance to react to that, from above came a high-pitched, shrill shriek, followed by a collection of deafening crashes. His eyes shot immediately upward, and he caught sight of the demon in question. It was black, slender, with a beast-like form. What struck him was the golden glow of its eyes. Without a thought to it, he pointed his crossbow upward and shot a bolt at it, missing it by just a hair.

"Damn it!" he growled.

Nearby, Chris reacted much the same as Sam had. His eyes shot up toward the demon in question, but the sight of the bolt in its direction was enough to shift his attention. He gestured silently from whence it came, then looked to Wyatt. It was his way of saying "I'll go for that while you go for the demon".

He jogged across the warehouse and soon happened upon the mysterious addition in question. When he appeared by the other two brothers, Chris was fully prepared to use his power, but upon seeing that they were mortals, he paused, hands held out. His expressed was yet again perplexed.

Dean was reacting now, too, aiming his gun up at the demon. Having not yet noticed Chris, he pressed against Sam and yelled, his voice deep and harsh, "Get down!" and took a shot at the agile beast. His shot went wide, missing it, but also near hitting the tall blonde nearby. When Dean looked back down, he was met with the image of the tall, somewhat slender brunette who wore an acidic expression on his face.

Neither Sam nor Dean knew what to think when they saw the brunette turn toward the demon and wave his arm. It seemed like such a stupid move, but when the beast went flying across the warehouse, colliding into a wooden crate that shattered upon impact, they both froze in place. Something was definitely afoot here.

Their hesitation gave the demon just enough time to escape. But unlike any other demon that Sam and Dean had seen before, this one simply faded out of view, as if it were a ripple in the water.

"Damn it!" Chris cursed suddenly. He turned toward the Winchesters, throwing his hands up in the air. "Who the hell are you, and what're you doing here?"

Before Sam could reply, Dean was up in arms. He stalked up to Chris, arms out and eyes narrowed. "Funny," he said, voice sarcastic, "I was gonna ask you the same thing! Do you know what you just _did_? Now that thing's _gone_!"

Chris shrieked angrily, "Because of _you_!" Nearby, the sound of Wyatt's sudden curse caught his attention. He turned to look and see if he was okay.

Sam used this time to step up beside Dean. Although angry, too, that the demon had gotten away, there were a number of questions jostling about in his head. He reached up and scratched the side of it, unsure of where to start. They were all on the offense _and_ defense. Any sudden movements were likely to get one of them gravely hurt.

Although he doubted Dean cared at that moment.

"Do you have telekinesis?" Sam asked abruptly. It was the only explanation he could think of to fit why the one named Chris had been able to do what he could.

"And a hell of a lot of other tricks," Chris replied, tone flat. He pointed to Dean. "Tell this guy to put his gun away unless he wants to see another, huh?" But he turned to Wyatt then, asking, "Wyatt, did you sense where it went? Can you follow it?"

"Was a little distracted by the nearly getting shot part, little bro…" Wyatt approached the group and stood tall beside him.

Was it odd for Sam to notice how he and Wyatt were the same height, just like Chris and Dean were? He tossed that thought quickly from his head.

Dean, always the aggressor of a situation, gave a grunt, looking at Chris with a scathing expression in his eyes. "I'll put my gun away when you tell me who the hell you two are, and why you're here." As he spoke he edged in front of Sam.

"We're witches," was all Chris offered. "And you almost shot my brother, so I have half a mind to throw you into the crate like I did the demon. Now are you gonna put the gun away or do I have to do it myself?" He held up his hand almost warningly.

Sam knew almost immediately that, when Dean groaned, it was because they had said they were witches. Inside he, too, felt a distinct sense of disgust. Witches were nothing but trouble. However these two were different in some striking ways. First, they were males. Second, they were _chasing_ a demon. And third, they must have been what he saw coming in from that strange, white-blue light from before. He didn't know how he knew that, but it just felt true.

Despite this find, the issue of the demon still remained prevalent. It had escaped, and that spelled serious trouble if they didn't find it soon. That quickly quelled Sam's curiosity and reminded him that there was a mission afoot.

"_Fuck_," Dean cursed. "_Witches_?"

Chris, obviously bristled by Dean's statement, folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. That was when Sam said, "Fuck is right. Now we're gonna have to find the demon _again_ before it kills another kid."

The dark haired witch was having none of that, however. "_Correction_," he said. "_We'll_ find the demon and _vanquish_ it before it kills any more children. Right, Wy?"

Wyatt was clearly irritated by the two opposite them. Raising an eyebrow and not hiding a snort that followed their statement, he said, "Right. We find it, vanquish it, then no more kids'll die. Easy as that."

The confusion Dean felt rang obvious by the expression on his face. Sam figured he had pegged them as Wiccans instead of actual witches. "Thanks, guys, but we've got it under control," he said with a snort. "Why don't you go home and hug some trees, huh? Burn some sage or whatever the fuck you Wiccans do." He shifted and pulled at the hem of his jacket, looking back and gesturing Sam to follow him.

"Burn some _sage_?" Chris sounded as offended as he looked, and he scoffed disbelievingly. "We only do that when there's a good reason," he said defensively, "and we _don't_ hug trees."

"Whatever," Sam groaned with a shrug, as he started to move to follow Dean.

But when the door they had come through suddenly shut as if on its own accord he looked back, noticing that the darker haired witch had his hand out.

Sam's fingers gripped the crossbow instinctively.

"Listen," Chris began, "I don't know who the _hell_ you two think you are, coming in here and fighting a demon with guns and _crossbows_, but you have _no_ idea what you're dealing with. You're way out of your league."

Dean was up and in Chris' face before Sam had the chance to react. Nostrils flaring and the muscles in his jaw line flexing, the older Winchester brother stared the dark haired witch in the eyes. But then, in a surprisingly well-restrained move, he stepped back, turning slowly away. He let out a disbelieving snort and cocked an eyebrow.

"I think you need to shut the hell up right now, _witch_." He spoke in a low voice, tone threatening.

Wyatt stepped closer to his brother then. But, Chris ignored him, and in an aggressive move, he lifted his arms somewhat into the air as if to say, 'Bring it'. What he actually said was, "Why don't you make me, _mortal_?"

"_Hey_." Sam, who had remained quiet up until that point, soon moved close. He stood up straight and took in a breath, which made him look more imposing. The testosterone flaring up in the room had grabbed hold of him, too. "_Nobody_ talks to my brother like that." And Sam knew exactly how Dean—who held being mortal as something very dear—was going to react. This was a stand off…one where none of the parties seemed to show any intent of backing down.

Dean, so incensed that he lost his calm, whipped out his gun and extended the barrel toward the shorter witch. "Oh hell yeah, bitch." As it was loaded with iron, it wasn't exactly the right thing, but that didn't seem to matter.

_Just what I thought_, Sam said inwardly.

He wasn't going to have any of that. He gripped Dean's forearm tightly and lowered it to the ground, trying to keep the gun pointed at the floor so nobody got shot. While Sam may have disliked where this was going and how these two were acting, this wasn't the answer. "Come on, Dean. Let's just go. We don't have time to waste with these guys. Screw them."

The look Dean gave him showed both his frustration and his anger. It would be hard for Dean to back down, he knew, but they stood no chance against a guy—and maybe even guys—with magic powers. They needed to regroup first before they even tried to go after them, too.

The older Winchester sighed sharply. "You're right, Sammy. Don't wanna waste blessed iron, anyways. Damn shit's so hard to get a hold of…" He uncocked his gun and reholstered it, taking a step back so he could look the other two up and down. "Besides, I came here to kill a demon, not some"—he waved his hand up and down at Wyatt and Chris—"interfering asshole of a witch."

"Exactly," was all Sam said, glad that Dean was giving in and listening to him. Though in his position, Sam had to wonder if for a brief second, he wouldn't have wanted to shoot the darker haired witch, too. He gave the both of them a look, not appreciating the sudden scowl on the blond one's face. "We're getting out of your hair. Now stay out of ours."

At that point, Sam began pulling Dean away.

And at that point, Chris turned to Wyatt. He stood there, looking somewhat surprised, but also a little disappointed at how their fight had de-escalated so quickly. He said nothing in response to their veiled threat, instead choosing to antagonize further by asking intentionally loud enough for the others to hear, "Since when do mortals fight demons? Wonder how many times they've almost died…"

Sam knew that they could have gotten out okay had Chris not said anything further. The fact that he did was incredibly frustrating, and he felt angered by the words. They had both died at least one apiece, and had nearly died dozens of times both before and after those deaths, all due to fighting evil and saving innocent people. What did these two know?

Sam turned, wanting to say something, but his brother's voice overpowered his, asking, "Since when to witches give a fuck about what anyone else does or cares about?" Thankfully, however, Dean didn't turn around, and just kept on walking.

Chris opted not to respond to that. Instead he gripped his brother's wrist, saying, "Come on, let's go home." After Wyatt nodded, the two of them disappeared in a flutter of white-blue light.

Sam, having turned briefly around as a sort of sign of rebellion against their attitudes, managed to catch the two witches disappearing in the familiar white-blue lights. He watched, transfixed, until they were gone, at which point he nudged Dean. "Dean…Dean, look. They're gone."

No witch they had ever seen had that kind of power. None.

Dean, obviously irritable still, smacked at the hand nudging him, but he looked nonetheless. Soon he, too, stood there, eyes transfixed and perplexed at what he had just seen occur before him. His mouth hung partially open as he tried to make sense of it.

He looked at his brother, frowning in concern. "I have _never_ seen a witch do that, Sam…"


	2. Save the Girl

**Author's Notes:** Oh wow! I'm glad to see this story has been so well received thus far. :) This makes me a happy writer! Always good to know people are enjoying what you write. Here's chapter two! So please, like before, lemme know what you think in a review :)

Shada917/Blueeyesbetter: Don't worry, more's coming! I've just finished with chapter four, so check in every so often. :D

LoveWithoutLimits: I LOVE the idea of Chris and Dean. It gets a lot more fun later on, trust me, with the plot running through the RP/story. I think you'll like it, too.

GayRon: Well, for the most part, Dean and Chris were the big thing in the RP. Sam and Wyatt were mostly supportive characters (with Sam playing a bigger role later on). No Sam/Wyatt or Dean/Chris/Sam/Wyatt, but there's plenty of crazy stuff going on in the future, particularly with poor Sammy.

Destatikai: Oh, I know, the location shift is a little odd...but we figured it was doable, and just kind of said "Eh!" since, well, AU can happen. ;) Don't worry! Wyatt'll have a bigger part sporadically throughout future chapters. I've written two or three scenes from his POV, so you'll see his side of the story, too. And also, Dean and Chris will continue to get on each other's nerves. It's central to the plot. Mwaha!

Zane: Doesn't it? I thought it would. Now you know what I was getting all frantic about last night when we were talking. I'm sure this'll continue to bring back the memories. xo

* * *

Both Sam and Dean had a hard time coming down from their confrontation with the supposed 'witches'. Neither of them had gotten more than a wink or two of sleep, thoughts of what had happened with the others running through their heads.

Witches didn't move like that, let alone _teleport_ through the use of some kind of white light. Both of them were very much aware of that.

A good portion of the rest of their night was spent trying to deal with what they had come across. But eventually exhaustion gripped them both, and the two Winchesters fell asleep on the somewhat small bed they had to share in their hotel room. During this time of the year the available rooms were both few and not exactly the greatest, but it was all they could get on such short notice. Thus, they had to deal.

Sam awoke that morning with his face buried in his pillow, and with the heavy weight of his brother's leg upon his own two. He had fallen asleep on his stomach. Because of that, his lower back ached somewhat badly. To alleviate the pain he shifted until he had flipped himself around, and then nudged Dean's leg away.

His brother stirred beside him. With a groan Dean rubbed his cheek into his pillow, sighing and opening his eyes blearily. He slowly and sleepily lifted his head. "…Time is it?" he mumbled, looking towards the tightly drawn curtains, behind which rested a thick line of salt for protection.

Sam noted that the watch he himself usually wore rested on the bedside table. He had to roll a little to grab it so that he could read the time. "Little after eight," he murmured, glancing back at his brother with a somewhat tired look. Dean appeared even more tired than he was, but that was to be expected. He groaned quietly as he stretched in the bed.

"What time did you go to sleep?" All he could recall currently from their return to the hotel room was that he had fallen asleep before Dean had.

"Sun was coming up," Dean murmured, pushing himself up and rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I'm gonna get a shower…" He forced himself up, pulling off his shirt all the while. He tossed it on the pile of dirty clothing that had gathered in the corner—they had yet to do laundry, which was one of the first things they had meant to do upon getting there—and worked on removing his pants as he stumbled towards the bathroom.

While Sam waited for his brother to come back, he sat up in the bed and tried to wake up some more. It was difficult, though, having only gotten a few hours' sleep—three or four, if that. He rubbed his eyes and lay back in the bed after a few moments, simply listening to the steady stream of water coming from the shower faucet.

Eventually, Dean emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, and he looked much more awake and put together than before. He appeared pensive. "Still haven't found any witches that travel by that method…" He gestured to the small table nearby, upon which sat their father's journal, spread open, with a pen and notepad resting beside it.

Sam figured Dean had begun looking through their father's journal _after_ he had fallen asleep. "Yeah, I saw that open…anything in there?"

"Nothing concrete." The older Winchester began rummaging through their duffel bag, growing irritated with the fact that he couldn't find anything. "Just beings that travel with white light. But since they weren't hurting anyone, Dad didn't really give a shit." He grunted. "Damn. Do we have _no_ clean clothes?"

"No," Sam said. "We forgot to run a clean load yesterday…" For a moment he paused, looking around them. Where was his laptop? "Is my computer in the bag?"

"Yeah, over there."

While Dean continued to search for clothing that could pass as clean, Sam got off the bed and reached for their other bag, retrieving his laptop from within. He crawled back onto his bed and booted up the computer. "I'm gonna look up these white-light angels on the internet and see if I can't find something…" After a moment, his eyes wandered to his brother, and he grinned. "You know, there's a laundry unit just down the way."

Dean, already fastening the buttons on his jeans, glanced at Sam with a raised eyebrow. He nodded. "All right. You do your college geek mojo, find us some answers, and I'll go get the laundry started so we don't stink like blood and guts." His stomach gave a low, whining growl, and he too grinned. "What d'you want for breakfast?"

"Whatever's good," Sam said. "Thanks, Dean."

In a matter of moments the older Winchester had all their clothes stuffed into the duffel bag, and he hoisted it over his shoulder, disappearing into the hotel hallway. Sam, now alone, turned his attention to the computer and began imputing what he knew about these beings. Most of the websites that he found were either pure crap or pure fiction, but on one or two rare occasions, some useful information lit up his screen in his searches.

Sam was so enthralled with what he had found that he didn't even notice Dean reappear until he heard the door shut. He looked up from his laptop, eyes landing on the large bag that his brother had with him.

"Wait, did you already do all the laundry?"

Dean shrugged. "It didn't take long. I went and got breakfast while I waited. I know you don't like eating while you do your computer thing, so I got yours right before I left." He lifted up the small box he was carrying, inside of which sat Sam's hash browns, pancakes and bacon strips. He offered it to his brother. "I've been gone for like, two hours, Sam…"

"I didn't realize," Sam said, blinking slowly. He stared at the clock on his computer. Sure enough, it was about two hours later. He had been so absorbed in his research that he hadn't noticed.

"So, what'd you find?"

"A hell of a lot." Something like pride swelled inside of him, as he had found a good amount of info to help them, and that always made him feel good—made him feel useful. "Those beings? They're called Whitelighters. They're apparently like guardian angels to witches. Well, kind of like guardian angels in general, because they help normal people, too, but..."

"Angels, huh?" Dean asked with a light snort. He took a seat on his side of the bed. "All right, I'll bite. So, uh, were those guys angels or witches? You can't be both…"

Sam furrowed his brow. "I think that's the only answer, though—that they're some kind of like…hybrid. But I have no idea how the hell that's even possible." He fell silent, popping open his box and starting in on his bacon.

A few moments later, he glimpsed at his computer screen, then back to his brother. "They can't..._breed_, can they? Whitelighters?" he asked, musing aloud. "I can't think of any other plausible explanation…"

Dean let out a derisive chuckle. "Man, they'd have to be some sorta freaky to do that…" He grabbed Sam's computer, spun it around, and read over the information splayed across the page. "I guess now we gotta figure out why they were at the warehouse. Did it say anything about these…_Whitelighters_, being vengeful?"

"Not from what I could find," Sam said, plopping some hash browns into his mouth with his plastic fork. If Whitelighters were guardian angels of sorts then there was no reason to explain _why_ they were there, he thought. But then he recalled what the darker haired one—Chris—had said, about how they were witches. Sam stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe they were gonna help a witch that was supposed to be there?

"But you know, Dean, I keep finding information with them that has to do with like…_good_ witches. You know, completely _opposite_ to what we usually see. These ones go out and battle evil, I guess. There was mentioning of a trio of women known as 'the Charmed Ones'. I couldn't find much else on them, though."

"No such thing as a good witch. Unless you're counting Glenda," Dean joked, looking at Sam. "I don't really remember reading anything about a trio of good witches, ever. I guess it's possible? I mean…three is a powerful number. You know, the trinity, the Law of Three, it makes sense. But I've never heard of witches being hunters…" He shook his head. "Anyway, they didn't seem all that friendly last night. I think we should make up some amulets for protection against witches just in case."

"No, they didn't seem all that friendly. That's true."

Dean was right. But then, they had interrupted their possible vanquish, or whatever it was they called it, and that would probably make sense as to why they got so angry.

_And_, they were male. Most of the witches the two Winchesters had come across had been female. The former had also been either benevolent, or more likely than not, completely wacko.

Sam swallowed some more of his food. "Maybe they're a first of their kind, these three witches. I dunno. Supposedly they're the most powerful witches on the planet? Or that's what the lore I read said. But they're all women, like I said...so these guys...maybe they're related somehow, like a coven."

"Great. Just freakin' _fantastic_."

It didn't take a genius to know that Dean was fuming—Sam could not only see it in his eyes, but also in the way he held himself. His lips were pursed tight and the crease lines in his forehead had become more pronounced.

"Let's take care of this demon and get the hell out of here," the older Winchester soon muttered. "I don't wanna have to deal with this coven, or…whatever they are."

Sensing his brother's frustration, Sam thought about how all that they knew was going to lead them to another encounter with these witches—e_specially_ if they were chasing after the same demon. But that didn't need to be said right now.

Instead he decided upon saying, "Yeah. We can check out the warehouse again tonight. The demon'll probably be expecting us, though, so we'll have to be extra careful. We can put some protection symbols on our clothes to keep the witch-wannabes at bay."

Of course, there was always the chance that these possible witches had already destroyed the demon in question. They would have to just go on blindly with the assumption that they hadn't. Either way, Sam felt a little more anxious than before.

At the mentioning of the symbols Dean seemed to perk up, and he reached into his pocket. "Actually, I was figuring it'd be better actually drawing them on _us_, since clothes can be torn off." He pulled out an eyeliner pencil that he'd snagged from a purse at the laundry place. "Besides, I'm not letting you draw on my clothes…I just washed them." He grinned.

"I'd like to think our clothes won't be torn off by guy witches," Sam laughed, catching Dean's smirk and doing the same. "Maybe some tree hugging girl one, but..."

He let it go there, though, and agreed with the fact that the protective symbols would need to be drawn on their bodies. "Probably best to draw them where they won't see them, so that we have an element of surprise. Hopefully it won't come down to having to defend ourselves, but…after what happened last time, who knows what they'll do."

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Witches are freaks, man, you just never know." He reached over and pulled out a book of protective symbols from their bag, dog-earing the pages of several intricate ones. "I figured we'd draw 'em on our fronts and backs…under our shirts. Definitely."

"That's probably best—center of the body. That one who can use telekinesis…" Sam briefly paused. "Hope the other one isn't capable of that, too. It seemed pretty damn powerful. Mine's...well." He recalled the event where Dean was trapped upstairs one time and he, in a closet. Though it had hurt severely to use it, he had managed to do some pretty powerful things. But on command like the witch-slash-whitelighter could…that seemed completely impossible.

"It's unreliable," he finally finished after a moment, shrugging.

"You're a freak, Sammy," Dean teased. "But at least you're not _that_ big of a freak." He heaved a sigh that Sam would have thought real, had it not been for the grin that appeared on his brother's face. "Sometimes I feel like I don't know _anyone_ normal…"

. . . . . . . . . .

Dean and Sam spent that afternoon gathering up all possible information and weapons for them to take out the demon. And, in preparation for the witches, they drew two protective symbols on their bodies—one for their chests, and one for their backs. They hoped that the combined powers of the two symbols would be enough to keep them at bay. If not, then they would just have to have faith.

While eating lunch in the downstairs restaurant, Dean and Sam watched the news—focusing particularly on the story about a little girl who had gone missing from the park playground the day before. The demon had obviously struck again. But, there was nothing they could do about it right then and there. That would be later.

By the time night fell, both boys were somewhat anxious. They had dealt with interfering forces before, but never a supernatural one that seemed to be on the same side they were. It was intrinsic, their mistrust for everybody else. It was well earned. Who had ever heard of a witch who fought forces of evil? Though, there was a first time for everything…

On the ride to the warehouse, Sam tried playing out all the possible scenarios for the night in his head. There was no way to be sure which would actually occur, but he figured that the more prepared they were, the better things would go.

Everything remained mostly quiet at first. The two Winchesters got out of the car upon their arrival and made their way across the wooden boardwalk toward the warehouse in question. It wasn't until the dim lights hanging above on the lampposts began to flicker that Sam and Dean knew that they had the timing right.

_Well_, Sam thought, _at least what we know about demons hasn't gone all wonky…_

Dean, pulling out his gun, nodded at his brother to move in the opposite direction once they were inside the building, in order to corner the demon lurking within. He soon crept away, skirting through crates and boxes of all shapes and sizes.

That was the last that Sam saw of Dean. His focus remained sharp—he perused the area up and down, left and right, checking to see if the demon was within his field of vision. He had his shotgun at the ready, but it was his ears that proved more useful right now. Any skittering of claws against the ground or walls would surely give the demon away, and Sam would notice that before he shot at anything.

But what Sam heard then wasn't the scratching of claws. Rather, it was the tired, yet obstinately urgent cries of a little kid—likely the girl that had been kidnapped. He stepped further into the maze of boxes, crates and nets, following the growing strength of her cries.

He soon completely in his tracks, however, at the sight of white-blue light pouring in from above.

_They_ were here now, too.

What Sam—or Dean, Chris and Wyatt, for that matter—didn't know was that the demon hung above, resting atop a tarp that lay entangled between some of the rafters. The child, its prey _and_ bait, sat in the very center of the warehouse.

Sam knew it was a trap, and was sure that Dean was thinking just the same, wherever he was. Allowing the child to cry was obviously the demon's attempt to flush them out so that it could attack. He almost wanted to give the demon some props. They could be smart and creative when they wanted to be, that much was for sure.

Nearby, Dean made his way further through the maze of miscellaneous garbage that existed within the warehouse. Before long, he happened across the actual center, where he saw the little girl, dirty but unharmed, with a chain around her neck that was loosely tied around a rusty carousel horse. She was still crying, her brown hair messy and draped around her face like a veil. She wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Dean cursed under his breath and approached the little girl, tugging gently on the chain. It sent a clatter reverberating through the warehouse, growing in pitch as the sound waves moved outward.

"Damn demons…" he complained quietly.

That loud clatter sent everything into motion. Sam, Chris and Wyatt had all heard it, and all at once the three of them started moving. Although the latter two were somewhere in the wrong direction, Sam had managed to hone in on the sound rather quickly; he came upon the entrance to the center of the warehouse right about the time he saw his brother removing the chain from around the little girl's neck. She clung to him tightly.

Above, something unexpectedly caught Sam's eye. It all happened in mere milliseconds. Before he knew it, the demon bolted from the rafters like black lightning, and pounced on Dean, forcing him to the ground. The little girl screamed and let go, rushing immediately to Sam. Because of her he misaimed, firing his gun and managing only to hit a crate close by. He, too, cursed, but felt sudden shame with the girl within such close proximity.

Sam watched in horror as his brother fought to keep from succumbing to the demon's thin, razor-sharp claws. By the time he had reloaded his shotgun he noticed that Chris and Wyatt were now standing within the center of the maze as well. Their arrival caused the young girl to scream in fear. They must have teleported in.

"Shh, it's okay!" Sam tried to comfort her. She clung to his leg so tightly that he stumbled forward, afraid to shoot again for fear of either hitting her or his brother instead of the demon.

Upon his arrival, Chris whisked his arm across his front, activating his power. That sent the demon flying right up and off Dean. Its shrill cry filled the air, though it was silenced by the sudden shock of being knocked against a crate.

"Dean!" Sam called out, trying to move toward his brother, who lay on the ground, covered in blood, and whose clothes were nearly shredded completely. The girl clung insistently, frightfully, to his leg, and he realized that, as much as he may have wanted to save his brother, moving close to him right then could put _her_ in danger. And she…she was more important.

He stayed put despite the tight feeling in his chest that told him not to.

Chris' voice filled the warehouse. "Come on, Wyatt, throw the potion! Now!"

It happened so quickly. Sam heard the voice, and he watched the blond pull out a tiny, near invisible vial that he chucked at the demon, which, now having righted itself, was diving for Dean again. When the potion bottle broke and its contents came in contact with the demon, the creature's body first glowed a bright shade of green; then, with a flash of brilliant fire and a piercing shriek, it disappeared with a small explosion.

Sam, even with the girl attached to his leg like a dead weight, started toward his brother. Chris and Wyatt did, too. Chris reached down to help Dean up, only to pull back a moment or so after he placed a hand on him. He appeared sick, and somewhat dazed.

"Chris, what happened?" Wyatt asked worriedly. He, too, went for Dean, but just like his brother, the moment he touched him, he stumbled back and looked equally confused. "What's going on…?"

Sam's arrival prompted him to repeat the question, pointing at Dean all the while. "What's going on? Why can't we touch him?"

With the girl clinging to him as she was and his brother being a bleeding mess, the sudden questions from the witches-slash-whatever didn't exactly register high on the list of Sam's concerns. He knelt down and lifted Dean into his arms, into his lap, and cradled him there, looking up at Chris and Wyatt with slight contempt on his face.

"You think we wouldn't come prepared for you two possibly being here again?" he asked, leaving it at that. "God, I need to get him—" But the little girl was starting to sob again, because of the injuries on Dean's body. He didn't want to react sourly but Sam wasn't so good with kids, and the strain was visible on his face.

"Well, we could heal him if we could figure out what the hell you _did_," Chris said.

"We took precautions," was all Sam gave in response. Because Dean had lifted his arms to protect his upper chest and face from the demon's attack, the place where they had drawn on the symbol remained relatively untouched. He licked his fingers and began rubbing it away. Dean was probably going to kill him for doing so, but if it meant saving his life, then he would understand.

Or at least, Sam hoped he would.

"There's another on his back, but it's not the one that repelled you," Sam informed Chris. "It was just a general protection symbol…"

Chris didn't respond to Sam's words. He only moved forward, lowering his hands to hover above Dean's mutilated upper arms. Soon a golden light emitted from him, which he slowly waved over Sam's brother's body. Dean's arms healed rapidly and the blood began to dry, disappearing completely just seconds later.

Now, it was as if he had never been hurt in the first place. By the end of it, both the little girl—who had gone deathly silent—and Sam appeared completely flabbergasted.

Dean, once healed, gasped in some air and gave a start upon recovering full consciousness. He recoiled at the proximity of the nearby witch, and clung to Sam. "Sammy?" he asked roughly. "You all right?"

"M'fine, Dean," Sam replied with a disarming smile. "You?"

"Good."

The little girl seemed quite appeased by all of this, but was still obviously very spooked. She kept close to Sam, her small hands clutching his large forearm. He turned to her and finally asked, in a quiet voice, "You okay?" When she nodded at him, he smiled faintly.

Dean didn't remain in his brother's arms for long. Once up and standing, he stared at both Chris and Wyatt with a mistrusting glint in his eyes. "Thanks for…whatever the hell it is you just did to me." He may have been doubtful of their alignment, but he knew when to say thanks.

"Yeah, no problem," Wyatt said before Chris could open his mouth. "But we wouldn't've had to worry about it if you hadn't come back."

Chris grumbled something to himself. Then, louder, he said, "Don't draw those stupid symbols on yourself. You might not be so lucky next time."

Sam didn't say anything to that, and instead just looked at his brother, then the girl. She smiled at him again. He turned his attention to the witches. "We do what we need to. But we'll keep it in consideration."

_Except not really_, he added as an afterthought.

Now that he was standing, too, the little girl kept close to him. He saw her eye the other two. She didn't look like she wanted to go back with them. Truthfully, he couldn't blame her. She seemed spooked by them.

A light sneer appeared on Wyatt's face. "Well, the demon's gone, now, so let's get out of here, Chris. Should we take her with us, do you think?"

"She seems happy with _him_," Dean intervened, pointing to his brother. "You two just get out of here and we'll take care of it. Go take care of some other _demons_." He snorted doubtfully.

Chris opened his mouth, looking cross. But, he seemed to decide against saying whatever he was going to, and instead simply said, "_Fine_. Let's go, Wy."

And with that, the two witches once again disappeared in a collection of white-blue orbs, leaving Sam, Dean and the little girl alone within the dark, cavernous warehouse. She gripped Sam's side tighter when the witches disappeared.

He heaved a sigh. "We should get her back home as soon as possible. But if her parents see us, we'll probably be tagged for questioning…" He stared at the little girl worriedly, wondering how they were going to do it. She just stared up at him.

Dean gestured toward the entrance of the strange box-crate maze. "We'll figure it out," he said along the way out. "We always do. Come on, let's go."

. . . . . . . . . .

All the way home, Chris just couldn't shake the feeling that something _wrong_ had just happened back at the warehouse.

When he and Wyatt reappeared in the manor, he let go of his brother and almost bolted upstairs into the attic, toward their famed _Book of Shadows_. It had never let them down before and he sure as hell wasn't going to just let this thing slide. If nothing was in there, then he would ask their mother or their father, both of whom had seen their fair share of magical symbols in their life.

The symbol itself was visibly charred into Chris' memory, along with the feeling of someone was shoving him away and choking him—the same sensation he had when he first encountered it.

But unfortunately, all he could find in the _Book_ was that it was an anti-Wiccan symbol—a powerful one—that was able to defer magical capacity, and with increasing potency depending on the power of the individual intended for it to stave away. Chris wasn't sure what he thought about that, but he brought the information to Wyatt, along with a somewhat irritated, worried expression on his face.

"I don't want to worry Mom and Dad yet," he muttered. "Why don't we go to Magic School and see if we can't find some more out about this? And _them_?"

They also had Dean and Sam to look up. Chris doubted that those two would have been able to find that powerful symbol all on their own. Plus, they seemed hardly fazed by what had happened. There was more to them than they were letting on, and that the Halliwells knew.

Now, it was just a matter of figuring out how to get the information they needed.

"Is it wrong for me to think of them as being suicidal for going after the demon like they did?" Wyatt asked. Chris had come into the kitchen, happening upon him in the middle of making a sandwich. He was just about finished slicing the thing in half when he added, "You're right, though. That's a good idea...the last thing I want is Mom cracking down on us."

"No, I don't. And all right. Come on."

Chris snatched up the other half of Wyatt's sandwich before orbing straight to Magic School. He, followed closely by his brother, arrived in the middle of the large, open reception area, where numerous cherry wood bookshelves filled with tomes lined the walls. Some of the tomes were centuries old, containing information about magic and magical theory that many mortals would kill to have.

A small collection of less recently published books located on the higher shelves above floated freely about in the air, switching their spots with others across the area. Chris was briefly distracted by them before he headed toward the large, daunting shelves close to him. When he realized he had no idea what section the stuff he was looking for would be under, he turned to his brother.

"Wyatt, would you say we should look under mortals or under demon hunters?" There were mortal hunters known throughout history, but majority of them were nothing to write home about, because they always died at the hand of some demon, eventually.

Dean and Sam were likely going to be no different.

"Why not both?" Wyatt said, smirking some at his brother and moving over to one of the bookshelves. "Let's split up. I'll take mortals, you take demon hunters."

Chris gave a considering shrug. "Sounds good."

Mortal demon hunters had their own section more toward the front of the reception area, although before long, he realized that he had absolutely no idea where it was, exactly, having never needed to find it before.

He found it after a minute or two of searching. But when he gripped the spine of the first book of many surely to come, he heard his brother huff behind him.

He turned. "What?"

Wyatt wrinkled up his nose. "This is ridiculous." He splayed out his fingers, hovering them just inches above the collection of reference books he had gathered from nearby. He closed his eyes. "_As silly as this searching seems, we seek information on the hunters, Sam and Dean_." He glanced at Chris then, shrugging. "Sorry, we don't have all night, and I figured the sooner we found the information…the better."

It took the spell a moment, but it soon activated. The pages of several of the books Wyatt had collected began to flap wildly as they seemed to search for information on Sam and Dean. When they stopped, Wyatt and Chris looked over them in tandem. What they expected to see differed completely from what was actually there.

Chris focused on one of the pages and briefly read the words upon it, raising an eyebrow at the paragraph. "...There're actually mortal hunters who know about this kind of stuff and _still_ chase for sport?" he asked, sort of disbelievingly. Sure, he knew they existed, but reading about them was a whole different ballgame. He was familiar mostly with mortal hunters hunting out of vengeance, although no mention of that was written in the text. The further he read, the more uncertain and freaked out he became. "Wow. This Winchester family is..." More on the page read about the number of demons taken out, and the family history.

But there, at the bottom, was the mention of Sam and Dean they had been looking for. Chris tapped his finger on it. "There. Right there."

Wyatt took a moment to read the words written on the page, as well. A visible shiver traveled through his body. "They're crazy...this whole family, my God," he said, glancing at Chris. "Restless spirits, werewolves...vampires, shape shifters…they've even killed a Wendigo?" Surprise rang in his voice. "So, what…they just…picked up where their dad left off? Moving around and just blazing a trail through everything they come across? And I thought _we_ had no social lives..."

Crazy, in Chris's mind, wasn't strong enough of a word for these two. Suicidal, maybe, or completely insane, or a combination thereof, but not just _crazy_. He folded his arms over his chest, taking in a deep breath.

"How do you think they found the demon?" he asked his brother. "They must have some kind of magical…_something_. You can't just find demons like that without some help, right?"

Or at least, that was what they had grown up believing. Chris and Wyatt had a very different life, one where magic was so intrinsic that to not have it seemed completely unbelievable.

"They must have _something,_" Wyatt said, sounding sure. "And they must be really damn bloody good at picking out what's _really_ magic from what's all a bunch of made up stuff, if they can go after all this and not make too many mistakes. Their dad must've helped 'em…I can't think of anything else that'd make sense." He sighed, rubbing his face. "Man, though…those symbols sure weren't made up…makes me wonder what else they know about."

Wyatt set the book back down and looked at his brother, a worry line creasing his forehead. "Maybe since the demon is dead, they'll just pack up and move on. Seems like they get a job done and skip town." He paused. "You know, I bet with all those guns and breaking into places, that they've got criminal records. You know, with mortal authorities."

What Wyatt said scared Chris a little. Mortals with criminal records chasing demons and killing them…there were so many things wrong with that sentence that he couldn't begin to pick out just one.

And when he tried to clarify it all to himself, all he could come up with was a surprised look and a slightly irritated grunt. "We'll definitely have to be careful."

There wasn't anything he knew about, though, that could do the same thing against mortals that those symbols did against witches. And even if there were, he didn't know if they would necessarily work well or not. "If they've skipped town then we shouldn't have to worry. But I definitely say we keep our eyes out no matter what. Who knows if they'll show up next time?"

Wyatt cocked his head to the side. "Think we could put some sort of tracker on 'em? Figure out where they're going?"

"Not without causing some kind of problem, I bet," Chris replied. Generally, they weren't supposed to use their magic for things like that, but that didn't mean they didn't every now and then. It just meant they would pay the price later on. Now, though...they were trying to do something for the good of other people. Who knew what Dean and Sam Winchester did when they weren't chasing demons? Like Wyatt had said, they carried guns and crossbows, and they also broke into places with seemingly no concern. Tracking them after all that didn't seem like personal gain.

"We should try anyways," he added. "That way we know where they're going. If they go out of San Francisco, we can just...take it off of them, I guess. Let them be some other witch's problem." Part of him felt guilty saying that, but he and his brother weren't super witches. They couldn't be everywhere and defend everyone at once. Their mother had taught them that.

"Sounds good," Wyatt agreed. "Probably need to get something of theirs, then." As he began closing up the books, he glanced around to make sure that nobody was listening in; not that anyone was even in Magic School's reception hall this late at night…

Chris was busy thinking about how they were going to procure an item from Dean and Sam. He started a little at Wyatt's question. "Huh? Oh, yeah…" His voice trailed off as he glanced at nothing in particular, mind lost in thought for a moment. "You think they left something at the warehouse?"

"Well, the shorter one—what's his name, Dean?—he left blood there. He was bleeding all _over_ the place before you healed him. That'd work." Wyatt gave an effortless wave of his hand, and in a flurry of orbs the books on the table reappeared in all of their proper locations around the reception hall. "They seem to stick pretty close together, too, so m'sure we could just track him and we'd be able to follow both."

"Blood'd work _perfectly_." Chris chewed on his lower lip. "They were brothers, right? That'd make things a lot easier…"

Their conversation was winding down, and Wyatt, eager to get home, sniffed and said, "Ready to get back?"

Chris nodded. Things were suddenly looking a lot brighter and a lot less difficult, which pleased him greatly. "Yeah, let's get going."


	3. Tricks

**Author's Notes: **Hi everyone! I'm back, with chapter three! I have to tell you, I forgot how much I love the Dean/Chris pairing. I'm already into chapter six (I'm editing it as we speak--or rather, I guess, as I type) and I forgot just how monstrously nuts things get. But, trust me, it's all for the greater good of your entertainment (and mine!). I update more or less weekly, so you can expect a new chapter here about once a week or so...if the editing process speeds up, it may be a little less than that. We're entering week 10 of my quarter at school, which means finals are the week after. Thus, lots of busy busy busy. But I'll do my best to keep up with my promises. ;)

I've mentioned it in the previous chapters, but this is about the point where POVs start switching pretty commonly. A common occurrence I've noticed is that, what would occur in the RP as two separate scenes being written simultaneously in the same thread has to occur as two separate scenes in writing (obviously!). So, that's what the stars are for. These mean that the scene following it happen more or less at the same time as the one before it and after it. I've tried to make the changes as seamless as possible. Hopefully it works...!

As you can tell, I love it when people leave reviews! Who doesn't? Please be sure to let me know what you thought of this chapter! I think a lot of you will have something to say. We'll leave it at that. Heheheh.

_Guardian music angel/blueeyesbetter: _No worries! More is definitely on the way. ;) Like I said before I update weekly, so check back every weekend!

_LoveWithoutLimits:_ I've noticed the chapters are maintaining a steady girth of like, 6,500 words or so, which is about 2,000 more than I write in an average chapter. So I'm glad the length is good for ya! Also glad to know I didn't disappoint. I hope this chapter is just as fun!

_Frzntears: _Yeah, they're boys, though. I have a feeling they wouldn't think much of the eyeliner and its properties. Haha! I've seen Dark Angel, though, yeah. Jensen is adorable on there. Sometimes I catch old episodes on the television. Why do you ask? :)

_Destatikai: _You know, I thought the same with Sam, but I thought the situation would strain him a bit. Hence why at first he's all o_O" but then he calms down and is a lot more receptive to her. And yeah, the stuff they've all read is pretty biased. But, keep in mind, I tried not to stray _too_ far from how it was in the RP, so as to keep true to it. So, we tended to write what worked for us and for our threads' purposes. Mwahaha. Keep reading! It's about to get much more interesting. ;D

_Darthnikki:_ Are you reading my mind? If so, get out! It's a dirty place in here. Haha ;) That's all I can say on the topic for now. That answer will show up veeeeery soon.

* * *

Dean knew their business was done there. That demon they'd been hunting was long gone and they should have already left town—they had been in San Francisco for at least a week now.

But there was something bugging him. He had a nagging feeling that they weren't done yet. That something remained here, needing their attention. That was when he had started poking around the town, trying to find some kind of reason for his odd feelings. He uncovered several strange goings on all around the city. None of them seemed too troublesome or terrible, but it just didn't feel _right_, and Dean didn't think that he could leave the city until he had at least righted some of them, if not all of them. Or, at least the ones he was capable of righting.

Dean knew Sam didn't really get it, and he sure played petulant when the older hunter mentioned wanting to stay to investigate matters further. Had he known that Sam had his own reasons for wanting to stay—especially what those reasons _were_—he would have flipped. But because he didn't, and because his focus was entirely on these strange happenings around the city, things went more or less smoothly.

This wouldn't have been the first time he had gone off and done something on just a hunch and a gut feeling. It most certainly wouldn't be the last.

The two of them sat inside the impala that Friday night, parked along the boardwalk of the port once again. Dean couldn't begin to understand why, exactly, malevolent forces seemed drawn to the port, of all places, but he didn't question it. He was too busy trying to figure out where, exactly, the thing was. It could have been hiding anywhere; there was the factory, the warehouses, the wharf…

"So…what're we doing here?" Sam asked beside him, somewhat irritably.

"There's a lot of freak accidents happening at the factory, down toward the end," Dean explained, glancing sideways at Sam. "No one's been seriously hurt, yet, but it's just a matter of time, I bet. M'thinking maybe it's some imp, or some kind of spirit." He cocked a brow and picked up his gun, opening the door and slipping out. "I'm gonna go check it out…just look around. You stay here and watch for anything outside. Might just be some…squatters, or something."

The loaded "okay" that Dean got from Sam didn't fail to bristle the older one's hairs a little. He knew Sam was a little angry, but he didn't appreciate the attitude. Dean had gone on plenty of missions with him where _he_ didn't feel the need to go. Sam could give him this one. Besides, if they could figure out what was causing all the trouble, then they could get rid of it and then high tail it out of the city. That'd make both of them happy.

He wandered down the port, the rushing sound of the wind coming off of the bay pouring over him. He flipped up the collar of his shirt and jacket to try and protect his ears from the cold on his way to the main doors of the factory. The wind died down immediately upon his entrance, and once he shut the doors behind him, he could barely hear it any more.

To his immediate left was the factory office—just a small, rectangular building within the larger factory itself. The plain white door was ajar and the lights inside were all turned off, save for the dim, buzzing glow of the computer screen savers scattered throughout the office. Dean couldn't see anything inside of there, figuring instead that, if it _were _some kind of imp or spirit, they would be deeper inside the factory. The bastards always were.

Though the building itself was secure, Dean felt an immediate sense of discomfort. The hairs on the back of his neck began standing on end, and as he made his way further into the factory, through the large, oily machinery maze that surrounded him on all sides, he eventually had to stop.

Something just didn't feel right.

Briefly—and only briefly—he thought that maybe this wasn't one of his brightest ideas. Dean cocked his gun, resting the barrel on top of his forearm. He slowly spun around, taking in his surroundings. At first, the only sound aside from his own footfall was the wind rushing around outside. But suddenly, there was another set of footsteps. His eyes shot directly to the path behind him, and he took aim.

Nothing was there.

Tempted though he was to call out and see who had entered the factory, he didn't want to give away his location, or the fact that he was even there in the first place. He all but tiptoed deeper into the factory, keeping his gun at the ready. That was when he heard a strange sound—a voice—that seemed like a mix between a sigh and a chuckle. He didn't recognize it.

"C'mon…why don't you just jump out of the dark and scare the shit out of me already?" he muttered. He pointed his gun in several directions, wishing for a moment that he had brought his flashlight with him. How he could have forgotten that, he didn't know.

This really _was_ shaping up to be one of his dumber ideas…

Dean's eyes suddenly shot to the metal-grated walkway above him when he heard stronger, heavier footsteps. They were slow, but they nonetheless caught his attention. But with this darkness, he couldn't see anything. For all he knew, the imp or spirit or demon or _whatever_ was lying up there, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Nearby, he saw a strange flash of light. It didn't register in his head that it could have been anything else other than the demon, and so he went for it, holding his gun at the ready. As he rounded the corner he prepared to shoot, only to freeze completely upon seeing none other than Chris Halliwell.

The look of anger and confusion that took over his face was instantaneous.

"_You_!" he nearly growled. "What the…what're _you_ doing here? Can't you fucking _butt_ _out_?"

Chris eyed Dean with an equal expression of angry confusion. He furrowed his brow and scoffed. "Can't you ever stop chasing things you're not _supposed_ to?"

"Not _supposed_ to?" Dean repeated, his own anger boiling up hot and fast. "I'll stop hunting these sons of bitches when they stop hurting _people_!" He made a flicking movement with his gun, then brought it back towards Chris, whose face was about the only thing he could make in this barely lit section of the factory. "Now you better just back up and teleport your freak-ass outta here before I take you out, too." He let out a frustrated sound. "Man, I _hate_ witches."

Neither Chris nor Dean was aware of the being that did actually lay in wait above them. Nearby, just out of sight, was a creature closely related to the Trickster that Dean and Sam had faced twice before. Though, unlike the Trickster, this being chose to remain in its true form. It was short, thin, and had the appearance of a corporeal shadow. Its night-vision capable eyes were a blazing shade of fire red and its teeth were jagged and numerous.

It watched both men, keeping an eye on the other two close by on the metal-grated walkway just a dozen yards or so away from it. Those two were Wyatt and Sam, the latter of whom had grown tired of waiting for Dean and had come to investigate what was going on. He had run into Wyatt while searching for his brother.

Back down below, Dean and Chris continued to argue. Their anger and obstinate, prideful words culminated in Chris using his telekinesis to knock the gun right out of Dean's hands. It went skittering across the ground, rattling the entire way.

"Who the fuck do you think you _are_?" Dean asked then, reaching forward to grip hold of Chris' shirt.

Chris started to answer, only to stop. The strange sound of the sighing chuckle returning seemed to catch his attention, just like it had Dean's.

The creature, like its relative the Trickster, enjoyed giving people their just desserts. Both men were teeming with hubris, and that needed to be remedied. With its attention focused solely on Dean and Chris, it began waving its fingers in front of itself. A strange, golden dust emitted from the thin digits, glittering all the way down to the two below.

"I'm someone who's doing his _job_," Chris growled, picking up where he left off. He shoved at Dean's hands and tried to push him away. He stopped when he saw the dust in the air, however he paid it little mind. "Why don't you go play and let me get done what I came to do?"

Before Dean could respond, the dust in the air flashed, multiplying in particles until both of them were surrounded in a swirling storm of glimmering powder. The only thing he could recall before suddenly feeling light-headed and finding himself on his ass on the cold cement ground was a strange, almost alien voice chanting some words in singsong.

Above, Wyatt and Sam, who were having an argument of their own, quickly made their way down to the ground floor where their brothers were in order to help them. Dean was out cold the second he hit the ground, and Sam gripped hold of him, giving him a few gentle shakes to try and wake him up.

Wyatt did the same thing to Chris nearby. Urgency rang in his tone as he said, "Chris? Chris! Hey, wake up!"

Both were still breathing. But while Chris stirred faintly in Wyatt's arms, Dean didn't do so in Sam's. He was out like a light, breath even and his lips parted slightly. He let out a quiet sigh.

"What the hell happened?" Sam asked, alarmed.

"I don't know," Wyatt replied. Exasperated, he added, turning to the tall hunter, "See, this is why I told you up there that you and your brother need to just pack up and leave this stuff to us. We're the experts, not you guys. I meant it when I said you could get seriously hurt." His attention returned to Chris then, who stirred still, but said nothing. When Wyatt saw the way Sam was looking at him, he sighed. His tone was scolding. "Something knocked 'em out. You guys stumbled onto something you shouldn't have been messing with in the first place."

Sam heard very little of what Wyatt said last, as Dean opened his eyes just a few moments into the speech. But soon thereafter they closed again, and he groaned softly.

"Whatever it is may not be gone," the blond witch said firmly. Still holding onto Chris, he moved close to both hunters, gripping a hold of Sam's collar. "Keep a firm grip on him."

"Why?" Sam asked, recoiling from the touch.

Wyatt tightened his grip. "Because I'm orbing us back to the manor. We'll figure out what's going on, there."

Within a matter of moments, Wyatt transported Chris, Sam and Dean to the room that he shared with Chris. The room was by no means small, but with four full-grown men in it, it was certainly not as spacious as usual. They landed just across from the door, to the right of the beds and in front of the large oak desk.

Upon landing Sam immediately pulled away from Wyatt, feeling sick. He took his brother and moved him toward the nearby bed.

"Dean?" he ventured.

No response came.

Right about then, Chris finally began stirring for more than just a second or two at a time. When he actually opened his eyes, he shifted and tried to sit up, but failed miserably. His head fell back on the pillow as he murmured groggily, "Wyatt…?"

Wyatt hovered over his brother, eying him. "Chris? Chris, man, what happened? You okay?" He sounded anxious, but also quite relieved.

Sam's attention remained solely on Dean, whose breathing had grown a little bit more solid. As he focused on the way the other shifted and slowly opened his eyes, he heard the others continue talking.

"No clue…"

"How'd that thing get a jump on you, Chris? You didn't see it?"

It was to that which Dean came to. He grunted quietly, shifting on the twin-size bed. His head ached and he strained to get his eyes to focus. He failed, mostly, but he could at least make out a pale and dark blur above him, which he recognized as his brother.

"Dean?" Sam murmured.

Dean's voice was a little raspy as he replied, "M'okay, Sammy… "

There was a moment of silence wherein the two groups of brothers simply rejoiced in the fact that nothing seemed to be overtly wrong. When Wyatt attempted to heal Chris, nothing seemed to need fixing, which they took as a good sign. Neither attempted to try healing Dean or Sam.

After a few moments of being conscious, Dean felt well enough to try and sit up. When he did, however, Sam thwarted his attempt and kept him lying down. He didn't fight further.

He didn't recognize his surroundings, he soon realized. Little alarms started going off in his head. He turned toward Sam, voice mildly rough. "Where are we? Where's my car?"

"The impala's back on the boardwalk," Sam said. "The witches transported us here. Or at least…the bigger one did." Here he glanced over at Chris and Wyatt, who seemed to be talking still.

"Wyatt, did you see what got us?" Chris asked quietly, already sitting up and rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

"No…I'd just found the other hunter when we heard something. I orbed to you and you were both down for the count," Wyatt replied.

Hearing all that Sam, Wyatt and Chris were saying riled Dean up. Although he felt light-headed and Sam fought against him doing so, he hurried to sit up. Seeing the two across the room from them, Dean knitted his brows, a feeling rushing through him that he couldn't quite explain. It made him pause a moment before he frowned.

"What did you do to us?" he asked brusquely, the back of his neck tingling.

Chris stared at Dean, baffled. "_I_ didn't do anything to you, and neither did _he_. Why don't you stop being such a whiny bastard and give yourself a minute?"

The verbal assault the younger witch sent at him made Dean glare, but at the same time he felt warmth fill his chest. It crept slowly up to his ears, and he knew he must have still been feeling weak. "Because everything was going _fine_ until you showed up!" He sneered, reaching out to grip hold of Sam's shoulder to keep himself sitting up. The warmth seemed to fill his cheeks then, and he found himself staring hard at Chris's mouth, his own going so dry he had to swallow at least twice before talking again. "What the hell were you doing, anyway, following us?" he asked nastily.

Chris was affronted. He moved to get out of the bed but stopped suddenly, as if something prevented him from getting up. The dark haired witch then cleared his throat, almost growling as he said, "We were trying to make sure you didn't get your stupid asses _killed_. There's more going on in this city than you're capable of dealing with. Why don't you _get_ that, you _idiot_?"

"You have no _idea_ what we're 'capable of dealing with'," Dean said in a low, harsh sort of voice. He eyed Chris carefully.

Without having realized it his pulse had quickened, and he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, unaware that his eyes were traveling on their own accord down the length of the witch across from him. There was definitely something going on, though he wasn't with it enough to really realize it, let alone what it _was_.

His fingers seemed to loosen just a little on Sam's shoulder, then tightened, almost like a possessive caress.

Chris stared at Dean intensely. His lips remained parted for a moment but no words came out. When they finally did, he sighed. "Whatever, idiot," he muttered darkly. He turned to look at Wyatt then. "Will you orb them back to the warehouse so they can get out of here? I don't want them here."

"I think we should stay," Sam said suddenly. Dean shot him an acidic glare but the younger hunter continued, addressing Wyatt in particular, "Just to figure out what happened. Don't you think?"

Dean was in agreement with Chris, even if he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from him long enough to look at his brother. "Naw, Sammy, Broomhilda over there is right," he said. "I'm just _fine_. Besides, I'd rather get out of here before they decide to shove us in the oven."

And with that he gave them a rather obvious look, moving to stand. But it was too soon for him. As he pushed himself up from the bed his knees buckled under him—the only thing that kept him from totally hitting the floor was his grip on his brother, and he grasped the front of Sam's jacket with his free hand to try to steady himself.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, sinking back to the bed.

"Yeah, alright. You aren't going anywhere for now," Wyatt said with a sigh. He obviously didn't want them there, but it was by far the most prudent thing to do, in order to figure out what had happened. Wyatt clearly felt obligated. "I'm gonna go make some coffee," he announced.

He left the room after that, making sure to shut the door behind him.

"If I felt better, I'd orb you home, myself," Chris grumbled then, having rolled onto his side so he could look at Dean and Sam with a scrutinizing stare.

"Maybe you can next time," Sam offered in a hollow, distant sort of tone. His eyes followed the path Wyatt had taken. He turned his attention back to Dean. "I'm gonna go with Wyatt."

Dean said nothing in response; instead he shot his brother a look that read: "Don't you leave me in here alone with him". All he got in response from Sam was a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes—the younger hunter's way of saying: "Don't be an idiot, and _behave_".

Sam moved up and away from Dean then, and just before he left the room, he stuck his fingers under his eyes, then pointed them at the other.

_I'm watching you_.

That motion didn't go unnoticed, and Dean made a small, insistent motion himself for Sam to get the hell back to the bedside. One which, of course, Sam ignored, leaving him alone with Chris.

He stared at the doorway for a moment before glancing back reluctantly at the witch. The most uncomfortable part about this whole thing was that he noticed himself _noticing_ the other, which was so off the radar for him that Dean didn't know what to think. Blood rushed through him, warming him despite his growing irritation.

"Freak," he said, more as a way to break his own uncomfortable feelings—much like how he called his own brother a bitch when he felt awkward. The way he said it didn't even sound accusatory, rather like instigation, and he eyed Chris, waiting for a comeback.

*

Wyatt, having made it almost down the hallway, heard his bedroom door open—Sam was stepping through it. He paused, and then turned more fully to wait for the other to join him. He didn't exactly want the company, but Sam was better than either of the other two. He seemed less volatile than the other.

Once the hunter caught up to him Wyatt led him down the stairs, glancing back to him.

"Sure we can leave them alone?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light. He didn't want a fight to start between them, too.

Sam just chuckled as they made their way through the sitting room toward the dining room. "I doubt we'll be able to leave them alone for more than a moment, but if we can't try it at least once to get some quiet…" He folded his arms over his chest then, eying the area around him with a quizzical look on his face. "This is a really nice house. Jeez."

"Thanks...it's been in the family for generations." Wyatt chuckled. "I, uh, have a feeling your brother is as high maintenance as mine. Am I right?" He had a feeling Sam knew what he meant.

"Dean's…probably what your brother would be like if he didn't have magic powers," Sam said after some hesitation. The words magic powers sounded a little stilted on his tongue. Wyatt could understand why, however.

"I'm not sure how Chris would be without powers…" he mused, moving into the kitchen and preparing the coffee maker.

Sam leaned against the cooking island once inside the kitchen. "Yeah, I don't really know him, but he doesn't seem the type to know what he'd be like without his powers, either. Have you guys had them all your life?"

Pouring the water into the machine, Wyatt flicked the switch and turned to Sam. He leaned back against the counter. "Yeah, pretty much. Don't really know what it's like _not_ to have them." He smiled a little and cocked his head to the side, looking at the tall, younger man in front of him. While he may have seemed harmless, the truth was, he was anything but. "Does that mean you're gonna try to waste us?" he asked, somewhat serious, but also somewhat joking.

Sam blinked. He hesitated, seemingly thinking about his words before he said, "I don't plan on wasting either of you any time soon. Won't let Dean, either. We have to look out for each other, hunters. Or...witches _and_ hunters, I guess."

"That's good to know. It's a pain in the ass always having to watch our backs for demons and dark magic practitioners out to kill us or steal our powers." Wyatt would have said "you have no idea" but he figured maybe Sam _did_ have an idea. There was something about the other that gave the air to there being more than he let on, which fed into his belief that the hunter was anything but harmless.

After all, given all that Wyatt had read about them and their father…

"Yeah, we…know how that goes, sometimes. We mostly chase _them_, but we've had a few chase _us_, and it's pretty nightmarish. It can get pretty gory, too."

Wyatt laughed. "Imagine that, twenty-four-seven, in your own _house_. The last thing we need is you and Dean, busting in with your guns in our faces...my sister would totally freak." Mel had a hard enough time dealing with demons half the time, always wanting to freeze them and leave the dirty work to her brothers. Hunters—especially ones like these two—would send her for a tailspin.

Sam's eyebrow rose. There was a curious look on his face. "Wait, you have a sister, too?"

Having no idea that Sam was putting two and two together, Wyatt just nodded. He turned to get some mugs from the nearby cupboard. He placed them on the counter. "Yeah, my baby sister, Mel. She's probably out with some friends right now."

"Huh." Sam ran his fingers idly over the smooth, wooden surface of the cooking island, eying Wyatt and then the coffee maker. "So, where's, uh, your mom and dad?"

Wyatt waited for the last of the coffee to drip before he took the pot out and slowly began pouring even amounts into the four mugs before him. "Mom's probably out…maybe at the restaurant, or one of my aunt's houses." He shrugged, not realizing maybe that Sam _knew_ who they were, given how many unintentional clues he had dropped.

He handed two mugs to the other, figuring he would take one to Dean.

"Your aunts?" Sam asked, tone rising slightly with interest. "You guys must have a big family, huh?" He gripped his two mugs but went nowhere just yet, waiting for Wyatt to lead.

"I guess it's kinda big. You know…cousins, aunts…we're all pretty close. Even growing up, I remember my Aunt Phoebe living here for a little while. There's a lot of room in the manor. Usually this is the place where we hold family get-togethers, stuff like that" Wyatt smiled a little at that, recalling several memorable events, taking a sip of his own coffee.

The two of them stood in silence for a few moments, Sam musing and Wyatt, lost down memory lane. It was the other's amused voice that brought him back.

"Should we go up there and make sure they haven't killed themselves?"

Wyatt grinned a little despite himself. "Yeah, it's…oddly quiet." He picked up the mug of coffee he'd made for his own brother. Maybe they had just…fallen asleep. He nodded towards the hall, leading Sam back up the stairs.

*

That was the final straw. Chris may have not been able to use his orbing abilities but he had full control of his telekinesis, because it didn't require much else than a flick of his wrist and an angry thought in his head. That word, that instigating little _word_—"freak"—made him grouchy, and so he flung a pair of Wyatt's—or what he thought were Wyatt's, but were actually his own—worn briefs right at Dean's face, hoping to shut him up.

He couldn't help but feel a little bit amused by it, and somehow also…slightly turned on. Like before, that warm feeling spread through him, as if someone were intentionally running their fingers up and down his spine. When he realized what he was feeling, he soon grew sick.

But, he was relentless. He retorted triumphantly, "Jock head."

Dean obviously hadn't expected briefs to be thrown at him, let alone worn ones. He reacted quickly, throwing his hand up and swiping them away in startled astonishment. After, he wiped his hand over his face, staring at the witch with disbelief.

"Dude..._gross_."

He stared a moment longer, then flicked his gaze to the briefs now lying on the edge of the bed. He let out a snort and cocked an eyebrow. "I've never had a dude throw underwear at me. Kinky." Although he smirked thereafter, it soon disappeared, replaced by a look of mild confusion.

Chris was at first repelled by what Dean said, but he found a sudden change in his demeanor and in the expression on his face. He felt…strangely _coy_, and he really didn't know why. Brushing it off, he then said, "Yeah, well, you deserve it." And even though he meant to say it in a somewhat degrading tone, it came out in almost a flirtatious one. That made him feel a little bit uncomfortable.

What the hell had just happened?

Dean looked at Chris more intently after that. "I wouldn't say that," he murmured. He cleared his throat quietly. He seemed unable to bring himself to look back to Chris, and so he lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as he shrugged his shoulders, making himself comfortable on the pillow.

Chris still felt weird about what it was that he had said, as well as about the strange feeling bopping around in his stomach. It felt as if something had tickled him, and now his muscles were tight, trying to fight back and resist. He found himself unable to pull his eyes from Dean for even a moment, but once everything seemed to settle down and they quieted, it suddenly wasn't as hard as it had previously been. He looked toward the wall.

Although tempted to say something he decided against it, just yawning.

Dean remained blissfully quiet for a few minutes after. But then all of the sudden he was talking again, and shifting around, too. His nose was wrinkled up. "Is this your bed? If it is, you need to lay off the perfume. Jesus."

Chris shot Dean a somewhat irritable look, angry with him for ruining the peace and quiet. "It's not my bed, no. I don't wear perfume. That's _Wyatt's_ bed. He enjoys his cologne. Just deal with it. You've got no right to complain."

That anger inside of him was bubbling up once more, but this time it made way for yet another strange feeling he couldn't quite identify. That feeling made him reach up and scratch the back of his head, which felt more sensitive than usual.

"I think I have a right when I'm lyin' here and it's gagging me," Dean huffed, turning his head and looking over at the younger one. He slowly ran his tongue over his lower lip.

Chris felt overwhelmed by the impulsive desire to have Dean in the bed beside him. As quickly as it hit, however, it left, leaving him feeling dazed and confused.

Something was _wrong_ with him. Why was he thinking things like this? He didn't like the other guy and he wanted him _gone_. But on the other hand, he wanted to crawl into the bed with him and—_no_.

Chris swallowed hard. That was a thought he didn't want to relive. "Whatever. Get out of the bed if it's such a bother. Jesus. Bitch, bitch, bitch."

"I _would_, except I can't seem to freakin' _walk_, remember?" Dean snapped, irritated again. "I wouldn't even be here if your bitch ass hadn't barged in and startled the demon…or whatever the hell it was in that factory."

Shifting around, Dean pushed himself heavily up, then into a sitting position, leveling his gaze on the darker haired one. His eyes were intense, and they made Chris feel both ill at ease and oddly aroused at the same time.

He swallowed hard once again. This was becoming too much. What was with these thoughts?

"Not my problem you can't walk, _bitch ass_," he settled on saying, muttering it acidly.

_Time to get serious,_ he thought. He flicked the pair of briefs at Dean again, mostly out of spite, but also partially out of uncontrollable curiosity and playfulness. Playfulness came out of nowhere, and which surprised him.

But he soon found himself confused by the way Dean was staring at him. Chris raised an eyebrow. "What the hell are you doing?"

Dean didn't respond right away. With a determined look on his face he snatched up the underwear, stumbling up and off of the bed, where he then fell heavily onto Chris's, almost sprawling across him. "I'm gonna make you _eat_ these," he growled lowly, a strangely aroused look in his eyes.

Immediately, Chris reached for the other and attempted to push him off the bed. But any and all irritation and frustration seemed to dissipate, because all he felt after that was a strange pull toward the older hunter. His logical half was confused, misunderstanding everything, and yet, something inside of him was taking in everything, twisting it in its own special way so that he enjoyed it, and welcomed it.

"Are you?" he asked, voice lilting with a mischievous tone.

But the second those two words came out of his mouth, he blinked. His fingers curled into his hands and he stared at Dean, somewhere between confused and anticipating. Dean seemed equally so, because when he opened his mouth to respond, nothing came out. But then the briefs, balled up and clutched within his hand, were coming up toward Chris' face. Dean's face was flushed.

"Yeah, open up…"

_Abort! Abort!_ The rational part of Chris's mind shouted. However, its connection to Chris' motor skills seemed severed. The dark haired witch shifted beneath Dean's weight. Somehow, he felt foreign in his own body. It was almost as if it were betraying him. He _liked_ the feel of the older one now atop him, and when he saw the briefs, his skin tightened in anticipation, while his rational half continued to shout in vain. It was like he now lacked the full capacity to control himself.

Without a second thought to it, Chris parted his lips, opening his mouth.

Dean became quite still, and he stared at the other with a strange expression. Inching his own face closer, with his lips parted slightly, he lifted his hand. Hesitantly he reached out, the rough tip of his thumb tracing the contour of Chris' mouth. He stared, transfixed.

For Chris, it seemed that the more uncomfortable he became, the more he seemed to go with what was happening. He could feel his dry mouth moistening as his lips shifted beneath the touch, and his hands, once frozen in place, soon moved onto the bed and almost toward Dean's body.

_ABORT!_

In a sudden grasp of control, Chris managed to shake himself of whatever seemed to have taken control of him, and he turned his head away. "Get off of me," he said, breath rushing faintly from him. It was a weak command, unlike any he had ever given before.

Dean complied, albeit slightly late. His skin was still flushed, and given the way he was shifting on the bed now, Chris could tell he was aroused. He made no mention of it, however, because he felt much the same.

It was _disturbing_.

He moved to sit up when Dean moved off of him. "God." He brought his index finger toward his lips. They were still tingling from Dean's touch.

Dean refused to look at Chris. He started to say, "That was…"

They were saved from having to continue on with the uncomfortable scene, as at that moment, both Wyatt and Sam walked through the door. Dean and Chris shot apart, looking like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

When Dean didn't say anything, Chris came up with an excuse on the fly as to why they were now on the same bed. "Dean wanted to see if he could walk and he fell on the bed."

Neither Wyatt nor Sam found the answer odd. Instead, Sam seemed amused by it. After he set the mugs down, he moved over to Dean, helping him up and off the bed. "Come on, Dean, I'll help you back over." Once they were on the bed, Dean immediately went for the coffee. Scalding hot though it was, he showed not a single sign of it burning his tongue.

Meanwhile, Wyatt offered a mug to Chris, sniffing a little and coming to sit beside him on the bed. Chris's heart was pounding within his chest. Could his brother hear it, he wondered?

"God, Chris. You need to learn to pick up after your dirty self," the blond witch murmured. He pointed to the briefs on the bed, but said nothing more on it. "By the way, no one's home. Know where they went?"

Chris apologized, somewhat unlike himself, taking the cup and letting the rich, blended aroma invade his nose. "I don't know where they are...Mom said something about working tonight, but she'd probably be home by now. Something must be up, or there's something we're missing." He chanced a glance over at Dean, feeling a strange thrill run through him when he saw the other was looking back. He averted his gaze to his brother with haste.

Over on the other bed, Sam was busy chuckling about how Dean couldn't wait to get up and move around. But with Wyatt and Chris talking, he leaned in to whisper, "I've got some news for when we get back tonight."

Dean gave Sam a curious look. Chris didn't catch any of their conversation, too busy talking with Wyatt about their mother. What he did catch, however, was the sudden shifting of the older hunter on Wyatt's bed.

"You know, I think I'm feeling better," Dean stated.

Chris, at first, was all for the fact that Dean was feeling better, because that meant that the two hunters could get up and get _out_. But suddenly he felt not quite so all for it; a thought invaded his head involving the two of them writhing on the bed, their mouths connected, and made his skin almost crawl—in both the good way and the bad way.

_No more of those_, he thought.

"We'll get out of your hair," Sam announced with a small smile on his face. He lifted his coffee cup to Wyatt, then finished off what remained of the hot drink, looking a little pained as it went down. "Thanks for the coffee, man. Come on, Dean." He placed the mug on the nightstand again in order to help his brother up from the bed.

All while this happened, Chris stared over at Dean, a mix of confusion and slight intrigue upon his face. Now that he thought about it, he doubted that Dean felt better, and that he was using that as an excuse to leave. That, Chris found, was both good and bad. The fact that there was even a split in his thoughts worried him.

Something was seriously screwing him up inside.

Dean and Chris shared an accusatory glare with one another, but it soon faded into a look of repressed longing. The way Chris's body began to tingle soon became too much. Feeling disturbed and unfortunately enthralled, he looked away.

Wyatt thankfully moved to stand and rushed things along. "Let me take you guys back to your car, huh? I orbed you here, I should orb you back."

With Dean remaining silent and distracted, Sam said, "Oh, sure, thanks. It's…not gonna suck as bad as it did last time, right?" He looked hesitant. "I felt like I was gonna barf afterward…"

"Nah, it gets easier in time. But, hopefully, this'll be your last."

The last thing Chris remembered seeing before lying back on the bed and closing his eyes was three figures dematerializing and disappearing from his bedroom.


	4. Smartass

**Author's Notes: **Yo yo yo peeps! Here I am with my weekly update. It's been slow going for me in writing/modifying, because it's the end of the quarter in classes for me, and I've got so much going on. I'm on chapter seven right now. I also have a veeeery busy week/weekend coming up, but chapter five will get posted next Sunday, so no worries! I'm glad to see everyone's enjoying where the story is going. I forgot how freaking long the RP was this was based off of, so this story will likely become the longest thing I've ever written/edited/etc. It's kind of an exciting feeling.

At any rate, here's chapter four! Same sort of rules apply--the stars (*) are used to signify a scene happening more or less simultaneously to the ones it's in between. I also tried something at the beginning of this chapter--the whole dual POV scenes thing. You'll see what I mean. I hope you all have a great time reading this chapter--don't forget to leave me a review letting me know what you think ;)

_Kirallie: _Yep, that is _precisely_ what happened. It'll be better explained, you'll see. But for now, it's just a bunch of havoc. Haha!

_Destatikai:_ Glad to hear it! And you'll probably enjoy this next chapter even more, because it's got all you want and maybe even more. :D

_Blueyesbetter:_ Here it is! I almost wanted to add, "Rock you like a hurricane". I've been listening to too much music...oops.

_Zane_: Maybe talk to you tonight? I hope you enjoy this chapter, too. There's a lot more Dean scenes thus far than I expected. I guess I can write him better than I thought? Although he isn't nearly as awesome as yours...

* * *

Sam had been very insistent about driving home that night. The last thing either of them needed was worries about the impala, or about getting back to their hotel safely. Plus, Sam had wanted to drive it for a long time, and Dean hadn't let him.

It was a just little itch that he had finally gotten to scratch…

Once he parked the car and helped Dean back into their room, he shut the door and locked it behind them, making sure that nobody was out there—just a habit of his. Once he knew, he turned to Dean, and then moved toward the bed. He had the look on his face sort of similar to an antsy child who had something to say and was just waiting for someone to ask him _'what'_.

But he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Dean," he said, sounding a little giddy. "You'll _never_ guess what I found out."

Dean, who had gone over to their bed and was about to lie on it, shot his brother a look. "Lemme guess…this place has a soap channel, and you're _all_ about it." He flashed his teeth with a grin.

Even though he should have expected an answer like that, Sam didn't know what to think of it, and he looked kind of surprised, if not a little offended. But then he said, "No, but that's not it."

And just because he had checked meant _nothing_.

He was antsy, too much so to even remove his boots or his jacket, or even the knife that he carried hidden. "You know Chris and Wyatt? The two of them?" He finally blurted out. "They're related to the _Charmed Ones_."

This meant a lot of things for them, and even if he thought it would be a smart idea to let Dean rest, he kind of couldn't hold it. When Sam had interesting or good news, it was near impossible for him to keep it inside.

Dean was distracted, and Sam could see it. The statement seemed to roll off his brother for a moment before the older one, licking his lips slowly, said, "Oh yeah? So…what, you said they were like…part angel? Or white…lighter…or, whatever?" He reached up and brushed his fingers over his lips then, almost caressing them.

Sam ignored it. "Yeah, yeah, they are. I think what happened is that they're part witch, but they're part Whitelighter, too. That's the term they used to describe them on the website. Their mom...she must have had them with a Whitelighter. But I thought they were dead people, so I don't…really know how it works…" They had seen some strange things in their life, but having sex with dead people kind of pushed it, he thought.

He reached out, nudging Dean on the shoulder. "Looks like we're gonna be stuck around them for some time."

Dean, apparently lost in thought, jumped a little at the nudge. He looked down at the one now sitting near him. "Actually, I'm all for loading up first thing in the morning and getting the hell out of here. Angels or no angels."

"What?" Sam asked incredulously. "Are you kidding? Dean, this is a chance of a _lifetime_. They have access to things that we can't even _imagine_. If they're the greatest force of good ever known to man and demon kind, then that means that they'll be able to—" But he stopped then, because something else dawned on him that he hadn't even thought of until that point.

He tucked that idea into the back of his head for later, continuing on, "They've got a lot of things we could learn from. And you know what Dad always said. We can't pass up opportunities just because of pride."

"It's not pride, Sammy," Dean murmured, appearing even more distracted than before. "It's just…not our style." Sighing, he fidgeted with his hands momentarily before suddenly moving to stand. "You take all the opportunity you want on this one. I'm gonna get a shower...then I'm gonna go find a drink." He tried to give a carefree smile, but it came off sort of lopsided.

Unfortunately, Sam fell for that carefree smile—even despite its awkwardness—and thought that everything was fine. "All right," he said, giving him a smile of his own. "I'm gonna do a bit more studying here, since I have more to go off of..."

He headed over to the small café table, propping open his laptop and waking it up from sleep mode. For all he cared now, Dean could take his shower and get a drink, because he had a mission to get accomplished.

Well.

_Two._

*

Getting back to the hotel was like a godsend for Dean. He was still feeling a little crappy, but his head had cleared and he was able to think without picturing the slowly parting lips of the witch when he'd told him to open up.

His thoughts seemed to betray him. They were all of Chris, of the other's face, his body, his _lips_. It was frustrating for Dean, not knowing why the hell he couldn't get these images out of his head. Thankfully, Sam seemed giddy as hell about something, and that meant he wanted to talk. _If it'll get my mind off of Chris, I'm all for it, _Dean thought.

"You'll _never_ guess what I found out," Sam finally said.

Dean, who had gone over to their bed and was about to lie on it, shot his brother a look. "Lemme guess…this place has a soap channel, and you're _all_ about it." He flashed his teeth with a grin, unable to help acting like an ass at least a little bit. It felt nice to fall so easily back into the groove of things.

Maybe this wouldn't be as hard as he thought.

Sam looked surprised. "No, but that's not it. You know Chris and Wyatt? The two of them?" He finally blurted out. "They're related to the _Charmed Ones_."

Dean could tell from what Sam said that he had checked the channels—his brother always did, the freak—and he gave him a brief look, but said nothing. Instead he focused on what else he said, and suddenly he was thinking of Chris all over again. Or rather, Chris's mouth. He swallowed, having to look away from his brother.

He slowly licked his lips without thinking about it. "Oh yeah?" he asked, trying to sound light and even and less interested than he truly was. His heart skipped a beat when he thought of how close he'd come to pressing his lips to the witch's and how _wrong_ that was. "So…what, you said they were like…part angel? Or white…lighter…or, whatever?" He reached up and brushed his fingers over his lips then, almost caressing them.

Sam didn't seem to catch on, for which Dean was thankful. "Yeah, yeah, they are. I think what happened is that they're part witch, but they're part Whitelighter, too. That's the term they used to describe them on the website…"

His brother's words started to fade as his mind drifted elsewhere. Dean, having until recently not believed in angels, found it all hard to swallow. But he was just a pessimist by nature, believing in what he could see; and he'd never seen a true angel before.

But Chris…he could see him as an angel…

That random thought made him want to hit his head on the doorjamb, though, and he jumped a little at the nudge to his shoulder. It had caught him off guard. He looked down at the one sitting near him.

"Actually, I'm all for loading up first thing in the morning and getting the hell out of here. Angels or no angels."

"What?" Sam asked incredulously. "Are you kidding? Dean, this is a chance of a _lifetime_. They have access to things that we can't even _imagine_. If they're the greatest force of good ever known to man and demon kind, then that means that they'll be able to—" He hesitated for a moment, "They've got a lot of things we could learn from. And you know what Dad always said. We can't pass up opportunities just because of pride."

Again, what Sam said mostly went in one ear and out the other. Dean had his mind on other things, so he wasn't even thinking about what Chris was…or how he could help them. He was so knotted up about the dirty images in his head; they made it difficult to focus on anything else.

"It's not pride, Sammy," he said. "It's just…not our style." A distant look appeared in his eyes as he fidgeted with his hands.

He was too distracted from the argument to really argue. If Sam wanted to stay, it was likely they would. All Dean knew was that he didn't want to get close to the dark haired witch again. "You take all the opportunity you want on this one," he said, moving to stand. "I'm gonna get a shower…then I'm gonna go find a drink." He forced a carefree smile onto his face that only mostly succeeded.

He was running out of time and he knew it, what with his contract and all, and he didn't want to spend the rest of his life all tied up with a family of witches that probably thought all hunters were silly humans who were messing around in things they shouldn't. What would their dad say to that?

Thankfully, Sam fell hook line and sinker for his smile. He smiled back at Dean, who felt a faint twinge of guilt. "All right. I'm gonna do a bit more studying here, since I have more to go off of..."

Dean just nodded in agreement before heading into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. And for the first time in a long time, he locked it. Sam could knock himself out over that computer, he thought, but he—_he_ was going to get drunk. And maybe get laid. Or laid, and _then_ drunk. Or just laid.

He couldn't decide.

The night was young.

. . . . . . . . . .

Sam couldn't remember when he went to bed the night before. It was sometime around four or five, that much he was sure of, because the infomercials on the television were starting to turn into actual shows. But, he remembered the time when he woke up, because instead of feeling rested, he felt _exhausted_. There were so many things on his mind, and so many things he needed to do.

Today he planned on going to the manor in hopes of striking up some kind of friendship with the witches. It would make it easier asking for help when it came to Dean…

Dean hadn't really gone with it, of course, hung over as he was, but he didn't have much choice. Sam all but dragged him out of the house and into the impala, letting him rest a little while he drove there; he didn't want to leave him alone at the motel room to sleep. His brother had gotten home sometime after he dozed off, which meant that he had gotten even less sleep than Sam did.

Everything aside, they needed to become familiar with the Halliwells, just so it would be harder for them to deny helping. At least, that was what Sam thought.

When Sam arrived at the manor on Prescott, Dean was still passed out in the car, snoring quietly. He left his brother in there and locked the doors, pocketing the keys before heading up the concrete stairs toward the large house. This was his first time seeing it from the outside, and the truth was, it was impressive. The old Victorian seemed well taken care of, complete with its mowed lawn, vibrant red paint and its spotless front porch.

Sam approached the two large stained-glass doors, admiring the colors for a moment before he finally knocked. He hoped to run into Wyatt, as it seemed that he would be his in to the Halliwell magic rather than the obstinate one, Chris.

A few moments later, a tall, broad-shouldered figure came up to the door on the other side. Before Sam could identify whether he knew them or not the door swung open, and behind it stood Wyatt, wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a red sweater.

"Sam?" He blinked. "…What're you doing here?"

It took Sam a moment to realize that he hadn't rehearsed for this at _all_. His mind drew a sudden blank. "Just thought I'd, uh, come by on some...non-business stuff." That sounded weird. "Well, you know what I mean," he rambled on. "Just thought I'd come and see if we can't get to know each other better. Since we kind of…do the same thing?"

He felt like a fish out of water; this was painfully awkward.

That was what happened when you mostly socialized with your brother, he supposed.

Wyatt, although he seemed surprised, didn't turn him down. "Oh, yeah, sure. Um, come on in." But his eyes traveled over Sam's shoulder and toward the impala, toward Dean. "Is he gonna come, too, or is he happy just…wait, is he sleeping?"

"Dean'll be fine," Sam said dryly. That his brother drank profusely the night before was just a kink in the plans. "Don't worry too much about him."

Wyatt nodded to that before stepping aside and inviting Sam in. He took him through the foyer and sitting room toward the conservatory, also known as the brightly lit, multi-windowed covered porch. He moved over toward the white-wicker bench, picking up a book from the coffee table and setting it on the end table beside where he sat.

"I was just doing some reading," he said. "House is quiet today. Chris has been…well." He shook his head. "Keeping busy. He's out right now."

Sam took a seat in a nearby chair that matched the bench in make and color. He leaned forward and intertwined his fingers. "Yeah, Dean's…well." He bit his lip momentarily. "He had too much to drink last night. But he'll be fine."

Silence followed their brief exchange, remaining for an uncomfortable length of time during which Sam and Wyatt stared at one another, offered polite smiles, and shifted around in their seats. One of them needed to jump-start the conversation, and Sam knew it should have been him. Yet for some reason, nothing was coming, not even a simple polite question.

Why was this hard?

"So, how's it, uh, going?" he finally said, clearing his throat and feeling like he had just jumped a really tall hurdle.

"Goin' good," Wyatt replied. He began fidgeting in his seat in such a way that Sam couldn't help but watch.

Finally, the blond said eagerly, "So, okay. I've…been dying to ask. How in the world did you and Dean and your dad get into all this? I mean…I read some stuff, but mostly you guys are this…mysterious …mystery." He laughed, shaking his head. "I mean, your dad…he was mortal, and you and Dean are, too, right? How do you even figure out what you're hunting! You can't scry, or orb or...anything, can you?"

The barrage of questions was enough to make Sam pause. But, he also felt an odd sense of delight grow within him. It was flattering to hear that somebody like Wyatt Halliwell would be interested in learning about some mortal hunters. From what Sam had read, he was infinitely more capable, more powerful.

He didn't realize the slight swagger that slipped into his tone as he responded. "It's…a long story that's not really all that long. Basically, something…happened, to my dad, when we were kids. And after that he went on a mission to find all these demons and bad things in the world, chasing after a specific one that did in my mom…we were on the demon's trail, too…"

When he realized he kind of trailed off there, he cleared his throat. "Sorry. Well, we, uh, basically picked up where he left off. Or Dean did. And then _I_ did, a little later. But no, we can't scry, or orb, or...anything like that."

He leaned back. Part of him wanted to tell Wyatt about his own abilities, but he knew where they had come from, and to talk about them with some sense of pride seemed hypocritical, given their origin. But he supposed that the witches wouldn't know the truth. That had died with Azazel.

"I guess you could say I have some powers?" he began tentatively. "I don't know. I can't control them. But I can see things, sometimes...and I've used telekinesis before."

What Sam said clearly piqued Wyatt's interest. He leaned forward, two curved creases appearing between his eyebrows. "Wait…you've got powers? Oh, man, my mom and aunts would love to hear about this…"

It was Sam's belief that Wyatt had never come across a mortal with powers before, based on the way he was acting. And if being such gave him the opportunity to meet the three most powerful witches in the world, then he sure as hell was going to go with it. If they could help him save Dean, that was all that mattered.

He was about to reply when he noticed a teenage girl with long, dark brown hair, bright hazel eyes and a can of soda pass by the sitting room, then stop, turn, pause, and finally walk over in their direction. It had to be Mel, their little sister.

"Hi," Mel said, a smile appearing on her face.

"Hi," Sam replied. "You're…" he looked to Wyatt. "Mel, right?"

Wyatt nodded. "Sam, this is my little sister, Mel. Mel, this is Sam…he's a hunter. A _mortal_." He raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly.

"Nice to meet you," Sam said kindly, after which Mel's smile seemed to turn into a coy sort of grin.

She took a seat on the bench beside her brother. "So, a hunter, huh?"

Sam nodded. "Yup, with my brother, Dean." He didn't really want to entertain that thought much longer, though, because Wyatt seemed intrigued about his powers. That was a good connection between them. Randomly, he wondered if perhaps Wyatt could help him learn to control his powers better. It was a nice thought. But, one thing at a time, he reminded himself.

"But...yeah," he said. "Anyway. Sometimes I can do it. I don't know how to control it. It's how we found that kid in the warehouse."

"So, are these things you see like waking visions, or do they come in your sleep?" Wyatt asked, ignoring his sister and the look she was giving Sam. "And telekinesis…wow." He was clearly interested, which pleased Sam greatly. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

"The visions are waking," he explained, "at least mostly…they come whenever, and they tend to cut in and out, sort of like a bad television connection." At that point he looked at Mel, who had crossed her legs and now was resting her arms atop them. He smiled, a little sheepishly, because she had appeared surprisingly engrossed.

"Sounds like something Aunt Phoebe could help him with, doesn't it, Wy?" Mel asked, turning her head towards her brother.

Wyatt wrinkled his nose and nodded somewhat grudgingly. Did he not want Mel to be here, Sam wondered? "Yeah, I bet she could, but she's busy, Mel. Sam came to talk to _me_." He turned away from her, looking back to Sam in a way that said: _don't mind her, she's just a kid_.

That made the young hunter laugh. She didn't seem like a kid to him.

He looked at Wyatt, raising his eyebrows. "So...what can _you_ do?" Sam asked curiously. "I mean, I've seen your brother flaunt his telekinesis all over the place, but..."

Mel snorted. "Sounds like Chris, all right."

Little did they know that Chris was wandering up the street, fidgeting with his book bag. He had a particularly sour air about him, and that only worsened upon seeing the impala parked along the curb of the manor. He headed right for the house and, upon entering, shut the front door roughly behind him.

"Wyatt?" he called, "Mel?"

And then Chris appeared. Sam craned his neck and saw the tall brunette making his way through to the sitting room. A ghastly look took over his features.

"What's _he_ doing here?"

Wyatt, who was still talking about what he could do when Chris came in, looked up at the loud slam of the door, which materialized into his brother. His brow knit in confusion. "He came to talk," he said. Then, he asked bluntly, "What crawled up your ass?"

"Nothing crawled up my ass," Chris muttered. He seemed to relax a little, however, for which Sam was grateful. The dark haired witch leaned against the archway frame that separated the sitting room from the conservatory. He stared at Sam for a moment. "And what did he come to talk about?"

Sam felt a little uncomfortable, but he didn't let it show. "Just talk. I wanted to visit with Wyatt some. We talked last night and I thought it'd be nice to get a chance to do it some more. We seem to have a lot in common."

That answer apparently wasn't what Chris wanted. Looking wary, he eyed his little sister, giving just the slightest nod of his head toward Sam, who didn't quite understand. He was halfway in his glance toward Mel when she froze him.

She groaned, shooting her brother a disapproving look.

"What's he doing here?" Chris repeated to Wyatt, a little more seriously this time.

Wyatt sighed in exasperation. "Damn it, Chris, what in the world? Are you nuts? He's just trying to figure some stuff out. He's got _powers_. Weak, but still…he has little to no control over them, and he just wanted to talk. He's not a bad guy." Wyatt shook his head.

Chris was about to reply when someone knocked on the door. He quickly gestured for Mel to unfreeze Sam, and once she did, he began walking toward the foyer.

Sam, unaware of everything that had just transpired in the last minute or so, glanced at Wyatt, who wore an apologetic stare. The young hunter blinked, mildly baffled. At that point he heard voices in the nearby foyer, one of them belonging none other than to his brother.

Dean must have woken up.

After moving to stand Sam headed through the archway into the sitting room, where he then was able to see more clearly the interaction between his brother and Wyatt's. Chris turned toward him and said somewhat flatly:

"Your, uh…your brother's here."

Sam's ears were filled with the sound of Wyatt and Mel's footsteps behind him, which he ignored in favor of his brother's irritable, slightly rough voice.

"Can I come in, or are you gonna make me stand out here all day?"

Dean fidgeted with the sunglasses he was wearing, slowly removing them as Chris sidestepped to let him into the manor. He brushed against Chris in the process, who murmured something to himself as he stumbled back. Dean looked to Sam with tired eyes. "Sammy…how long were you gonna stay here?"

"Wait," Mel interjected, cocking her head to the side. "Who's this?"

Sam watched as his brother's demeanor changed completely in the presence of Chris's little sister. He straightened his posture, cleared his throat and cocked an eyebrow, looking her over once or twice. A half-smirk formed on his face. "Hey, I'm Dean…"

He shouldered past Sam and moved toward Mel, who gave him an enticing smile.

"That's _Mel_," Chris said all of the sudden, voice firm. "Our _little sister_."

Wyatt, who had been quiet up until this point, said, "I'm, gonna go get something to drink. Back in a minute."

He seemed eager to leave the scene, but Sam didn't have time to be concerned with that. He sensed immediately that this all had the potential to go incredibly sour. He cleared his throat, warning Dean, while Wyatt disappeared into the kitchen. But his brother looked as if a shiver had gone through him. He couldn't have been scared of the look Chris gave him in regards to Mel, could he?

"Ah, yeah…sister…" Dean stared back at Chris, an inviting sort of grin on his face.

"Yeah, sister," the dark haired witch repeated. His cheeks flushed slightly as he and Dean continued to stare at one another. Then, he announced suddenly, already moving toward the kitchen, "I'm—I'm gonna help Wyatt get something from the kitchen."

"No, no, it's okay. I'll go do it," Sam interjected. He quickly remedied the situation the best way he saw fit: removing the stimulus. "Hey, Mel, why don't you come with? I'd like to get to know you better, too."

"Really?" Mel's voice cracked just slightly. She hurriedly cleared her throat, and in her normal voice repeated, "Really? Oh, cool, sure. Come on, the kitchen's this way."

Mel unabashedly slipped her arm through Sam's as she guided him through the sitting room toward the kitchen.

*

Chris watched as his sister dragged off the last hope he had for getting Dean away from him.

He felt confused. Just minutes previous, he had been irritable because of something that had happened while he studied on campus. And now here he felt even more so—as well as increasingly anxious—about being alone with Dean Winchester. He had hoped that the night before would be the last time he had to worry about him, or about those strange, incomprehensible feelings he had experienced while in the other's company.

But it all came crashing back down the second that Dean had brushed against him on his way through the door. Chris had bristled because of it, and almost immediately after the second he got upset about it, he felt those familiar tingles in the base of his spine and in the pit of his stomach.

He was doing his best to ignore them, trying to focus on the high he got from keeping his sister away from Dean's perverted grasp. That was _his_ grasp.

No, no it wasn't, he quickly reminded himself. Why would he even _think_ that?

Dean, who had turned to watch Mel and Sam disappear, soon came back to staring at Chris. He grinned even wider, taking a step nearer. "You don't have to be so over protective," he stated. "I was just saying 'hi'."

"You…don't have a younger sister, do you?" Chris asked, already knowing the answer. "Overprotective comes with the job description of big brother. I've seen you be that way with What's-His-Face—Sam—in there." He gestured toward the kitchen. "Thought you'd get it."

Being that they were the same height, Chris had nowhere to look at that moment except right at Dean's face. He stared right into the big, beautiful hazel-green eyes and—

Chris closed his own eyes and quickly shook his head. He was going to ignore the fact that his lips were tingling again. "Anyways."

"Oh, no, I _get_ it," Dean said, almost laughing. But then he scoffed quietly. "But yeah, _anyways_. Want to get back to just the regular treating-me-like-crap?" There was something in the way Dean said what he did that made Chris think he almost really did want him to. "Or, you know…I could just go back and wait in the car while you guys have your lovely little _magical _tea party."

Was that _jealousy_ in Dean's voice? Chris furrowed his brow, pulling his gaze away from the other's eyes just long enough to look down toward his nose, his lips, and then his neck.

"Treating you like crap only seems to only make things worse," he murmured wearily. In a decidedly surlier tone, and with a gaze directly at the spot between Dean's eyebrows, Chris said, "You're welcome to stay. But I don't really even know why your brother's here in the first place. Obviously you and I've got the same opinions, but...our brothers don't."

"Yeah, because I'm of the opinion you're all _dangerous_. I put everything on the line for my little brother, and I don't need him coming to _you_." Dean was getting upset, Chris could tell. The bitterness that seeped from his words was a little alarming. "You're still witches, and witches are nothing but trouble." Dean's skin was flushed and he glared at Chris accusingly.

Because of this, Chris went into defense mode. His features darkened considerably, and he glared back with full force. "Witches are nothing but _trouble_? Tell that to the _thousands_ of innocents that my family has saved over the generations of our existence. Tell my _mother_, who saved the world from the _Titans_, that you think we're nothing but trouble. And why don't you tell _me_, who saved your goddamn _life_, that we're nothing but trouble. Tell me again, Winchester, come on. Tell me again we're nothing but _trouble_."

By the end of his rant Chris was completely incensed, with mixed feelings coursing through his body. He was angry, frustrated, and felt like he was on trial; but at the same time he felt enticed, aroused and anxious.

He licked his drying lips, feeling the electricity coursing between him and the hunter.

Dean swallowed hard, staring at Chris somewhere in between sheer hatred and overwhelming desire. He moved towards him, suddenly trapping him against the left wall of the entranceway, near the front door. His words were low, barely more than a grumble.

"Maybe you shouldn't have bothered."

He firmly planted his hands against the wall on either side of Chris's shoulders. Taking in a sharp breath, he then leaned his head close, the tip of his nose grazing the other's jaw.

It took a lot of work to make Chris back down. But in one swift move, Dean not only had done it, he had also rendered him speechless—something that not even Wyatt was capable of. When he felt Dean's warm breath on his jaw line, his knees nearly buckled.

"Our brothers would have killed us," he said, his breath catching slightly in his throat.

He tried to press against the wall as hard as he could, as if he could phase through it. But Dean wasn't going anywhere. That strangely but interestingly shaped nose was still touching his jaw, making him writhe in place. This was all sorts of wrong, and yet, Chris couldn't bring himself to stop it.

Dean sighed, shutting his eyes tightly. Chris wondered briefly if he was going to be punched or kissed with the way the older hunter was acting. As Dean's breaths came in more shallow, he almost began to nuzzle the young witch.

"I want to just knock the smart ass right out of your mouth…" he murmured, brushing his lips over the place where his nose had been.

Chills traveled to places in Chris's body that he didn't even know could experience them. His skin tightened, and his breath seemed to slip right out of his body. For a brief moment he stood there, feeling overwhelmed by it all. Whatever was going on with him with all of this, it wasn't natural. Still, it felt _good_, and in a moment of freedom, he realized that part of him kind of _wanted_ Dean to knock the smart ass right out of his mouth.

But then Dean pulled back, looking tortured with having to do so. He stared darkly into Chris's eyes, his jaw clenched and his expression quickly turning hard.

With what little focus he had then, the young with reached between them, heart pounding, and placed his hand on Dean's chest. His long fingers gripped the rough material of the hunter's jacket.

"You probably couldn't hit the broad side of a barrel," he said quietly, in a tone that was challenging, yet almost amorous. The conflicting feelings inside of him were hard to understand; Chris quickly realized that, in no longer trying to make sense of them, his head actually cleared somewhat.

Dean looked down at the hand gripping his jacket before returning his gaze to Chris. The emotion in the hunter's eyes was strong, encompassing. Neither was able to pull away. They were both caught in the pull of the moment.

"I'm a perfect shot," Dean replied simply, gruffly.

Chris could have sworn the thumping of his heart was audible; he could feel it in his chest, in his stomach, in his ears...it was turning every visible piece of skin a shade of red, including his cheeks, which glowed brightly. He used the hand on Dean's chest to start pushing him away, but the force behind the action was weak. He wanted to push him _away_, and at the same time, he wanted to bring him _closer_.

"Doubt it," Chris responded, with another licking of his drying lips.

"Try me…" Dean muttered, seemingly as confused as Chris felt.

Sam's voice boomed out of the blue through the dining room, sitting room and foyer, spooking both Chris and Dean. "Dean! You want a big cup or a small cup?"

Dean gave Chris one more look before stumbling back and away, nearly tripping over the corner of the Oriental rug covering the entryway. This, accompanied with the shout, seemed to be enough to snap the young witch back into focus. He pulled away from the wall as quickly as he could, still tingling in the areas Dean had touched him.

He snorted. "Oh, I'll try you…if you can learn to walk, first."


	5. A Little Voodoo Magic

**Author's Notes: **Hi all! Sorry this is later in the afternoon than usual. I went on vacation after finals this weekend and I didn't get back until about ten minutes ago. And, it's snowing where I live! Which it never does. So I'm all wtf? and simultaneously excited. I have to work on Tuesday and maybe even tomorrow, but I don't have tire chains...ooooops. Oh well. I'll figure it out. Bus!

Anyway, time to respond to some notes :D

_Blueeyesbetter:_ Isn't it? It kills me sometimes just how much these two hate each other, and how it only makes it worse. Mwaha!

_Kirallie:_ I will say yes to one of your questions and no to the other, but! I will not specify which. It'll ruin the suspense. ;)

_Destatikai:_ You know, I thought so, too, after I'd posted it. I liked the double POV up until that point. Then I was like, aw, fuck, I wanna change it. But I didn't. XD Story integrity and sticking true to the RP, and all that stuff.

_Darthnikki:_ Well, I did a double POV thing at first--the scene from Sam's view and then the same scene from Dean's view. Both of them had unique things that I wanted to express, and I couldn't do both without making it sound weird (or at least, weird in my opinion). and as I said to Destatikai, there was the whole sticking true to the RP thing, etc. Sorry to have confused you there!

As always, please review and let me know what you think. :) I'm slow going on writing more--I'm only on chapter eight right now. But hopefully that'll change soon with more free time coming up. We'll see!

* * *

San Francisco was proving to be quite the hotbed for supernatural activity. Dean had been elated when he'd first picked up the odd trail of signs, all of which pointed toward some serious hoodoo. He was all _about_ going on a hunt, because he needed to draw Sam away from the Charmed Ones and remind him that, even if they weren't the kind of witches they were used to, they were still dangerous.

Chris _especially_.

It irritated Dean just how far up the Charmed Ones' butts Sam was—more than it should have, probably. After all, Sam _was_ going to need someone once Dean was gone. He was just upset that it was _them_, of all people. He'd have preferred someone like Bobby, or Ellen, or…_anyone_ else. Anyone.

When Dean managed to pry his brother away from the magical family, he let him know what he had picked up on—the presence of the kind of witch they were _used_ to. And naturally, Dean assumed that they would simply go off and do the hunt on their own, like they always did.

So it was needless to say that he felt not only a little bit betrayed when his brother went off and told Wyatt and Chris about their hunt, but also a little anxious. What had happened between him and Chris just over a week ago still remained very vivid in his head; he knew he was fine now, was back to normal, but throwing the witch into the mix once again had the potential to put some serious kinks in that fragile sense of normalcy. Dean had enough going on in his world without the added stress and confusion that came along with Chris Halliwell.

He hadn't heard about the issues Wyatt and Chris had been experiencing with Mel, their sister, until Sam had mentioned it all to him. The truth was, even if he had heard, he probably wouldn't have cared. As intrigued as he was by the family—how could such a paragon of good have gone hidden under their and their father's noses for so long? —he didn't know them well, and he didn't usually care about that which he didn't know. Or at least, he didn't care _much_. Besides, they had enough people capable of handling it, from what he knew.

What _he_ was currently trying to figure out was how the connection had been made between the witch they were looking for and the demon or whatever Chris and Wyatt were chasing. And how, for the love of _God_, Sam had convinced him to let them come _with _the two of them on their hunt.

The things he did for his baby brother…

White knuckled hands gripped the wheel obscenely tight as Dean drove them to the old farm out on the outskirts of the city where they had figured out the bad mojo was coming from. It appeared around a bend in the road as the trees thinned. Even from the distance he could feel the ominous air about it. The closer they got, the more oppressive things grew.

Or maybe it only felt oppressive because of the fact that not one of them had said a single word the entire drive out of San Francisco, and he was just now noticing it. Or even because he had Chris Halliwell cramped up in the seat behind him, and every time he looked in his rearview mirror, he got a full shot of the young witch's somewhat round, boyish features.

God, did Dean hate this.

He slowed to a stop in front of the farmhouse. Up close he could see ill repaired state it was in: the broken shingles on the dormers, scattered areas stripped of paint on the outside walls, several broken or completely shattered windows...It looked like something straight out of a horror flick. More simply, even, just another house in the life of Dean and his brother Sam.

He hurriedly got out of the impala, paying little mind as the others followed suit. His eyes were trained on the front door, which was ajar. That in itself was slightly suspicious. He knew that it had to have recently been opened, as when he staked out the place just the night before, the door had been securely shut. He doubted the wind from the bay was capable of blowing a thick oak door ajar.

Dean, along with Sam, moved to the trunk. When he popped it open, revealing the massive collection of hunting equipment they lugged around with them, he grabbed his Colt 1911, popped the clip out and made sure that it was full. He also pulled out his flashlight and his knife, equipping them quickly. With everything in place he looked back at the witches, who were standing behind him and his brother with a mixed expression of confusion and fright on both of their faces.

"Hope everything goes all right," Sam murmured.

Dean wrinkled up his nose. "You know it will, Sammy. It always does."

Thankfully, neither Chris nor Wyatt said a word. Instead they just followed behind Dean, who led them into disturbingly quiet house. Nothing inside the house seemed out of place—a faded oriental rug lay crumpled up in the entryway and some pictures hung crooked on the walls surrounding them. The only light came from the moonlight outside and the flashlight Dean held in his hand.

They had barely stepped foot near the staircase when a sudden flash on the landing above them caught all of their attention. They turned toward it, each preparing in their own way. But it was Wyatt who stepped forward, and who spoke.

"There's something in here, for sure…maybe the witch…you two should stay behind us."

He didn't even look back at Dean and Sam when he said it. He approached the staircase and stared up it once he reached the landing. "She—or it—may just be fooling with us, but could actually be upstairs, too…"

Dean bristled at the sudden commandeering attitude Wyatt had picked up. Instead of _obeying_ like the witch probably wanted, he cocked his gun and brushed past them all, glowering as he headed toward the kitchen with haste.

"Get your stupid ass back here!" Chris hissed quietly after him. It only took a moment before he darted off down the hall and through a set of French doors that led into the kitchen, chasing after the older hunter.

Dean, who was about halfway through the kitchen, stopped in his tracks at the sudden sight of something gliding speedily across the back of the field. It was heading straight for the barn. Just as he was about to chase after it, the petulant, obnoxious sound of Chris's voice filled his head.

"Where are you going!?"

"I saw her!" Dean muttered. "She's outside."

He wasn't going to lose the chance to waste this thing himself. So help him, if either of the witches intervened and took over…

Dean burst out onto the back patio and bolted across the dry field under the cover of darkness, the moon having become covered by some thick, passing clouds. His booted feet crunched the grass beneath him, but he paid it no mind. He kept his focus on the large barn with the faded red paint in the distance. Its door was unmistakably open, and that he knew for sure was also something that had happened just tonight.

He barely registered the swirling white-blue light that formed near him as he zoomed past. Once again he heard Chris's voice.

"_Dean_! You _idiot_! Come on!"

The older Winchester didn't slow until he was within a few yards of the barn. There were no windows, at least none that he could see, which meant that the only way out was through the front door. If the witch he was chasing had gone inside, she had effectively trapped itself. That seemed like a dumb move. A _very_ dumb move.

Keeping his wits about him, Dean carefully and silently tiptoed past the barn door, immediately hopping into the darkness to his left. He realized that he was wrong—there _was_ a window, although an unreachable one—way above the top level of the barn, on the right-hand side. The panes of glass were heavily dirty, causing a distortion in the light that poured through it. Still, it was enough to let Dean vaguely make out the shapes of farming equipment scattered throughout the barn, as well as the decaying corpse of what looked like a dead chicken hanging off a nearby stall.

He grimaced, holding up his gun and flicking on his flashlight once more. At that moment Chris slipped inside the barn. Dean was glad to know he at least had the smarts not to just barge in.

"Shh!" he ordered in a whisper.

Surprisingly, Chris complied. But as Dean made his way around the perimeter of the barn, he saw the good witch gesturing profusely upward. He just barely caught the movement of something in the rafters—something that had the clear silhouette of a human. Instinctively, Dean gripped hold of Chris's arm and urged him behind him. Years of protecting Sam had ingrained that action into his memory, no matter who it was.

"It's in here. Damn it, Sammy, where are you…"

Dean kept his gun trained in front of him, his footfall as light as he could make it. Unfortunately in doing so, he didn't notice the more hollow sound of both of their footsteps as they moved from dirt floor to wooden planks. All of his attention remained focused upward. Chris didn't sense it either, and the two of them continued walking, until their combined weight proved to be too much for the rotting wood to handle.

As the planks shattered and crumbled, both Dean and Chris fell—and fell _deep_. Suddenly dirt and root walls towered around them on all sides, trapping them in a pit. When Dean landed it was on his side; his impact with the rough dirt floor was enough to knock the wind out of him. Chris hadn't landed any better. He hit the bottom of the pit with his butt, and the moment the two made contact, Chris let out a weak, pained cry, which was mostly drowned out by the thud and rumble of the collapsing debris around them.

"God…" Chris almost whimpered. He looked up, which made Dean do just the same.

A few choice curses left Dean as he recuperated, vision slightly blurred. He had been through worse, but that sure as hell had felt pretty damn bad in itself. He righted himself a few moments later, glancing back up at hole into which they had fallen with the help of the flashlight. The pit was deep—at least thirteen or fourteen feet. Whoever had made it had obviously not wanted to give their victim the false sense of hope that they could escape.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

How were they going to get out of here? He would have suggested just hopping on one another's shoulders, but that would have left the one in the pit with some issues. The idea that Chris could orb them out didn't even cross his mind—he would have firmly opposed the idea, anyways, stubborn as he was.

Chris's voice interrupted his thoughts. It sounded uncomfortable, uncertain. "Dean."

Dean ignored it. He felt anger building up inside of him. They were stuck in here with no real chance of escaping. And to make matters worse, he was trapped with the one person who only made the situation that much worse. Why couldn't it have been some hot chick? Even Chris's sister? She was eighteen. She was all right.

"_Dean_."

"_What_?" Dean snapped. He turned to Chris. His flashlight shone on the wall nearby him, and a pale flash notified him of a line that led to an intricately designed symbol nestled covertly on the wall. He followed the line downward into the pit and soon noticed that it, too, bore the same symbol.

The anger bubbled up inside of him like never before. "_Damn it_! It's a _trap_! Why the hell did you have to follow me!?"

"Why are you yelling at me?" Chris shouted back.

To be honest, Dean wasn't sure why he was yelling at Chris. It wasn't his fault that they were there; rather, it was Dean's, he having been the one to lead them into the barn. But he was beyond pissed at that point, and wasn't seeing reason. Moving forward, he almost sneered at Chris.

"See that?" he grumbled, pointing his hand downward where the flashlight illuminated the witch's mark on the floor of the pit, directly below them. "Why the hell did you follow me? Now we're both freakin' stuck!"

"You grabbed my arm, you ass!" Chris barked almost immediately after Dean pointed toward the witch's mark. He reached up to grip his head then, grimacing. Chris waved his hand all of the sudden in front of him.

The hunter knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what _wasn't_ going to happen. Still, he felt an odd sense of worry when the other gripped his head as he did. He pushed it away, keeping stoic as Chris looked at him with an almost scared expression on his face.

"God damn it!" Chris grumbled in frustration.

Dean was livid. "Yeah. What use is it being a witch now, huh?" At least he didn't have any dependency on powers to save his ass. "God damn witches," he muttered, looking around in the dim light at what had fallen in with them. There were some longer boards, ones not entirely rotten, and he bent down, pulling them to him. He felt a burst of inspiration.

With any luck…

Dean got to work, shoving the end of one board into the dirt, then leaning the other end against the wall of the pit. He ignored Chris for a moment as he edged up the plank, trying to get to the top, where he could possibly reach the edge of the hole. Only halfway up, though, the board splintered and broke beneath him, and he fell to the floor, cursing.

*

Sam watched as Chris chased after Dean, presumably to keep him from doing something stupid. But what Chris didn't know was that Dean was smarter and more capable than the average hunter. He wouldn't need saving. While he felt drawn to chasing after his brother, too, he stayed with Wyatt, feeling that if they split up, even if by chance, one hunter and one witch was more effective than a single witch by himself—or a single hunter by himself.

Even if Wyatt was trying to run the show.

A sudden sound from the area above caught his attention. His eyes shot upward.

"Come on, Sam," Wyatt murmured, "Stay with me. Chris'll take care of Dean."

Sam ignored the comment, choosing to follow Wyatt up the stairs and further into the farmhouse. Each step gave a light creak as they made their way upstairs, but there was nothing they could do to prevent it.

The younger hunter watched their back while Wyatt kept his eyes trained ahead of them. His hand was poised at the ready.

When they arrived on the landing, Sam turned around and faced the same direction as Wyatt. The way the house was built, the landing met with a large window covered with condensation from the cool night air outside. The rooms on the top floor were all to the right, down a single narrow hallway. The wallpaper was peeling, revealing the moldy cream-colored walls behind it. Occasionally there was something that looked like dried blood smeared on them. The hallway smelled of decomposition, which seemed to support the theory.

Wyatt approached the closest door, which was to their immediate left, just beside the window. Inside looked like what had once been a bedroom. Except now, it was filled with piles of melted candle wax and bundles of dried herbs that smelled unclean and bitter, along with other more heinous objects.

It took Sam all of a moment to quickly realize that the smell of the herbs was bad news. He reached out, gripped hold of Wyatt's shoulder and said, "Hey, don't let go, all right?"

Unsurprisingly, Wyatt agreed—he likely could recognize it, himself. He suddenly appeared green around the gills, and his large figure swaggered slightly as they moved further into the room. He sniffed, almost tentatively, before approaching an altar beneath the room's only window; half melted black and red candles covered majority of the wooden surface. Atop it rested three dolls, all made of cloth, and from which the nasty odor of the unclean and bitter herbs emanated.

One had pins in it and a large, ornate M sewn into its 'skin'.

"Thought so…" Sam murmured quietly.

Wyatt, who had switched grips with Sam and was now holding on to _his_ shoulder, stared down at the doll before him, swallowing hard. The herbs obviously were having an adverse effect on him. Sam hoped he wouldn't actually be sick all over him.

"Voodoo dolls," he said. "No wonder…"

"Yeah."

"Look."

Wyatt lamely pointed toward the places where the pins had been inserted. Each one was in a spot where Mel had claimed hurt. Each also happened to be a part of what kept her chakras in balance.

By now, the scent of the herbs was disgusting enough to briefly inhibit Sam's thinking. He settled that by breathing only through his mouth. He knew from experience that some of the herbs chosen were used to stave off those who were pure of heart, but whatever else was used had to be what was making this more difficult for Wyatt.

"We've gotta find a way to like…deactivate them," Sam said.

The smell was still there, still causing his mind to fog up the important information. He groaned quietly.

Wyatt seemed to be having even more trouble functioning. "Ungh. It's…we've gotta…sever the link. They're tied to us. Remove whatever's connecting 'em to us…"

"You gonna be okay, man?" Sam asked Wyatt. It was the first time he had really seen the other appear so weak and disoriented.

"Yeah…yeah, I'll be fine." After taking a moment, the tall blond mustered up the focus and energy needed for the situation at hand. "Anything we do to the dolls, remember…will happen to us, too. So we can't burn 'em or anything…" He scratched his forehead. Sam figured he was also trying to recall what he could about Voodoo magic.

Sam stared intently at the dolls before him. He remembered that Voodoo was intricate magic, tied deeply into the mind and spirit.

"We can remove the pins at least…that'll help…"

With great care, he picked up the Mel doll, skillfully wriggling and tugging out the needle that was in the lower half of its body. There were a total of four pins in all, and one by one, with agonizing slowness, Sam removed them. They each fell to the altar with a faint _ping_.

"They've got some part of us…" Wyatt said, even though Sam was well aware of that and was looking for it. "Hair, fingernails…somethin'…"

Sam flipped the Voodoo doll around and caught sight of a thin, almost unnoticeable collection of Mel's dark hair. The second he pulled that off of the doll, too, a strange puff of rainbow colored smoke hissed from the doll, dissipating in the air.

Sam blinked. He hadn't expected that. "One down…"

Wyatt seemed a little bit more in control now. He shifted, and the younger hunter felt the grip on his shoulder loosen slightly. After a moment's pause, Sam reached for the doll marked with an equally ornate W, which obviously stood for Wyatt. It only had one pin in it—right on the top of the head. He removed it with utmost care, constantly glancing back at Wyatt to make sure nothing had gone wrong. He took the fact that the blond hadn't died as meaning that he had done well.

In an instant, the Wyatt doll soon met the fate of its sister doll. This time, the cloud was golden-white.

He turned to Wyatt. "How do you feel?"

"A _lot_ better." Not only did it sound true, but it _looked_ true, as well. Wyatt's skin had color in it again, natural color, and his stance straightened. He released Sam's shoulder. A wave of his hand sent the harmful herbs—now a collection of orbs—right out the window and onto the field below. The oppressive feel of the room lightened considerably.

Sam grinned. "Awesome."

Wyatt smirked proudly, and a little smugly.

"All right…so…two down, one to go." Sam turned toward the altar, reaching for the doll marked with a C. Chris's. This one had two pins—one in the throat and one in the heart. After Sam removed them he found what looked like one of the dark haired witch's fingernail clippings. With a sound of disgust he flicked the clipping onto the altar, watching as a puff of green smoke intertwined with blue, creating a strangely beautiful turquoise cloud before it dissipated.

*

Chris was scared. There had only been one or two times in his life where he had felt completely vulnerable. Now he could chalk up another one.

He knew that he relied on his powers a lot. In his defense, he couldn't really remember life before having them. They were as natural to him as his ability to breathe, walk, or talk. Not being able to access them right now was like suddenly finding himself blinded or deafened—he lacked a major sense—his sense of magic.

The way Dean yelled at him didn't warm Chris up any to helping him move around the wooden boards to try and escape. It didn't really matter, anyway, because he was still somewhat ill. The symbol hadn't so much rid him of his powers as suppressed them; he remained very much aware of them being there, he just simply couldn't activate them. The harder he tried, the sicker he felt.

He finally gave up, assuming that that was part of what made him feel better. He had absolutely no idea that upstairs in the farmhouse, Sam had just destroyed the voodoo effigy of him, and that it had lifted the strange curse of illness hindering him.

Unfortunately, it didn't remove the binding of his powers.

Chris feebly attempted to use his powers once more, to no avail. He cursed, about to throw in the towel. That was, until he saw the wooden plank Dean was on top of suddenly crack and split, sending the older hunter tumbling down to the messy dirt- and hay-covered floor of the pit. Before he knew it he was up, moving toward him.

It surprised him, though not so much as the mixed frustration and arousal did.

"You okay?" he asked.

Dean reached forward and gripped Chris's shirt with lightning fast reflexes. He tightened his fist, preparing to hit him, but something stopped him. Chris tensed within his grip, not attempting to pull away.

"No, I'm not okay, freak," he murmured. "We're like sitting ducks in here. We can't do _anything_."

"Well, then what the fu—," Chris began.

Dean wrenched him forward unexpectedly with the grip on his shirt. He sneered, and then the next thing Chris knew, they were kissing—lips pressed fiercely against one another's in such a way that sent chills throughout his body. His mouth registered the intensity of the kiss a moment later with pain, and it hurt like a son of a bitch, but Chris didn't pull back. The arousal rolling around within him ignited, taking control. Soon he was kissing back—albeit awkwardly—and gripping at the middle of Dean's jacket.

He felt trapped; oddly enough, however, his brain didn't portray it as too threatening.

It didn't take long for the kiss to intensify. Dean's breaths came in shallow, just as Chris's did. He gripped more of the witch's shirt to keep them close together, their lips still locked against one another's in near desperation. When Dean finally broke the kiss he bit lightly at Chris's lower one, and then shifted their bodies. He pushed the other down against the floor and moved over him, doing so somewhat awkwardly because of their clothes and the debris that littered the dirt floor. Chris didn't attempt to fight back—something inside him seemed completely hell-bent on letting this happen, and it was hard to deny it.

"I fucking swear…" Dean growled, mouth barely an inch from Chris's.

The feeling of Dean's breath pouring over his face made the young witch close his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, he felt that strange arousal re-ignite. Clutching onto the fabric of Dean's jacket, Chris responded, "You fucking swear what?"

As odd as it was, it seemed that the angrier he became, the more _into it_ he became. He wasn't sure what that meant but he _did_ know that he liked it. Spontaneously he moved in and grazed his teeth over the rough skin at the base of Dean's neck, where it met with his collarbone.

Dean groaned roughly. "I fucking swear," he repeated, muttering, "I'm gonna kick your ass…"

That sent a brief thrill through Chris's body. He probably shouldn't have found it such a turn on, hearing that Dean wanted to kick his ass. But Chris loved a challenge, and this had all the makings of one.

With what little sense he had, he came to the conclusion that Dean was just as he gone as he was. He felt the other's hand relinquish the grip on his shirt, fumble down his front and then work at sliding beneath it. The second he felt Dean's callused fingertips running over the skin of his stomach he groaned as well, stomach muscles tightening and his eyelids fluttering briefly.

"Damn…" Dean said breathily.

The two of them shared another kiss. Though this time it was less harsh, there was no less passion in it. Chris moaned, one hand reaching up to clasp Dean's neck. Dean's body was dangerously close to his, and he could feel the proximity throughout every inch of his own form. In an unabashed move he pressed his hips upward, reveling in the sudden pleasure that came from his half-aroused erection meeting Dean's warm jeans. Immediately afterward he felt the hunter's knee rub against his groin.

But all at once, their mouths broke apart, and Dean released his hold on Chris' front. The older one pulled back and turned his head away, closing his eyes tightly.

The heat of the moment now broken, Chris fell from his high. Clarity slowly returned to him.

He felt ashamed at how quickly he had given in to his instincts.

"God," he murmured breathlessly after a moment. He was still inexplicably drawn to Dean, which scared him. Thankfully, his lucidity afforded him one moment of unmistakable willpower. It was that which helped him to reign in the feelings pumping through his body. "What _was_ that?"

In a surprising move, Dean turned his head and brushed the tip of his nose against Chris's cheek. "I…" he began, closing his eyes and knitting his eyebrows in confusion. He paused. "Man, I don't swing this way…" Chris hadn't figured he did, but Dean continued on, "Ever since that night, the more you're an ass…the more I want you." His fingers ran down the witch's front, where a sliver of pale skin exposed from his shirt having ridden up from before lay.

Chris's tone was a little defensive. "Hey, I don't swing that way either, if that's what you're thinking…"

It hit him quite suddenly, the realization that came next. _Ever since that night_. Chris eyed Dean curiously before he spoke again.

"Wait. Do you mean that night at the warehouse?"

Even as they spoke, Chris found himself drawn to Dean's face, his body…him in general. He lifted his head, his nose close to the tip of Dean's, but he didn't touch him, instead wanting to test it. Sure enough, when he recalled the feeling of frustration within, the arousal began bubbling up.

Dean replied softly, "Yeah, when you busted in and we got our asses knocked out…" Afterward, he dropped his face down and nipped at Chris's neck.

The arousal attempted to brutalize the witch's focus. His skin tingled, tightened, and his breath hitched briefly in his throat. Irritation stemmed from that, which in turn fed the arousal further. Before it had a chance to get too overwhelming Chris pulled back, his head hitting the dirt floor beneath them.

He groaned. "Oh, _God_."

For reasons unknown, Dean seemed to take that as an invitation to kiss him again. Chris responded, of course, liking it just the same, but he realized that it didn't hold that same electricity that came when he recalled how angry he had been at the hunter their last few run-ins.

Chris relaxed against the dirt after a beat, pursing his lips momentarily. "It's just…not the same if we're not mad at each other," he stated. "I think we're dealing with a hex."

A hex done unto them by whatever creature they had been chasing in the warehouse all that time ago…

Dean slid his hand out from beneath Chris's shirt, looking at him almost apologetically, which confused the witch. "A hex…huh." He pulled away then, sitting back on his calves. He dragged his hand over the front of his face. "If that doesn't take the ca—"

From off in the distance came the muffled sound of a gunshot. Both Chris and Dean looked up toward the top of the pit. Sam and Wyatt must have found the witch.

That thought distracted Chris only long enough for him to sit up. When he did, he realized that his jeans were tightened by a more-than-noticeable erection beneath. Embarrassed, he quickly shifted. Dean didn't seem to notice.

"That's Sam's gun."

Chris nodded. "They probably found the witch." He furrowed his brow, confused. Sam must have found her first. Wyatt would have wiped her out with his plethora of powers. A gunshot was laughable in that case.

Silence fell over the pit as Dean and Chris realized just how far away from the farmhouse they were, and how unlikely either of their brothers would hear them if they shouted from within the barn. It set a somber mood, which prompted Dean to heave a heavy sigh.

"Of all the fucked up things…"

He was back on the subject of the hex—or at least, what Chris _believed_ to be a hex. But, having spent all his life reading and learning about these kinds of things, he was quite sure as to what it was. That pissed him off. He had been hexed before, and it hadn't been fun trying to fix. That hex was like child's play compared to this one.

Despite himself, Chris chuckled. Dryly. "This…could not have happened to two worse people."

That answer seemed to perk Dean's ears up. He stared off at nothing for a second or two before focusing back on Chris. "Maybe that's _why_ it happened to us. Ever run into a trickster?"

Chris shook his head. "No." Out of perhaps curiosity he then nudged Dean's thigh with the tip of his shoe, wondering how he would respond. He should have said something more, but it didn't seem nearly as important as it should have.

Dean responded with a smirk. He shoved the foot away with a gentle shove. "Bitch." He said it lightly, jokingly. But his voice took on a serious tone, and his facial features followed. "Hey…do me a favor. Don't tell Sam, okay? Kid worries about me too much sometimes, and…" He trailed off, growing distant.

It was a little surprising how fast Dean could go from playful to serious. But he brought up a good point that Chris understood. He worried like that with Wyatt and Mel, even though they were both fully capable of taking care of themselves. He didn't plan on telling Sam anything any more than he planned on telling Wyatt anything, mostly due to the issues involved. How could you tell your brother you had been hexed to become aroused whenever you got angry with some guy?

"I won't tell him," he said aloud. He leaned in some. "But I can understand. Sounds like me with my brother and sister."

Dean frowned at Chris. "We—_I_—can figure it out. You just…stay away from me."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," was all Chris said, incredulous. Like this was _his_ fault. _He_ wasn't the one who ran in and tried to save the child. It was Dean. It was all on Dean.

Of course, the second he started thinking about that, that familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach rose again. He was about to shift when Dean, who had moved to stand rather abruptly, was now yelling out Sam's name.

Chris covered his ears with his hands. "_Jesus_!"

"Did you hear them?" Dean asked, hope ringing in his voice. "There's voices. They're muffled, but they're there. It's gotta be Sam and your brother."

Sam's deep voice soon rang over the top of the pit. "Dean!"

Chris barely had a chance to register what was going on before Dean was shouting again.

"Sammy! We're in some ditch in the middle of the fuckin' barn! There're wards all over the place! Chris can't orb!" Dean's gaze turned to Chris then, lingering momentarily before he tore it away and glanced back upward. "Get your ass over here and drop us a rope, will ya!?" Again he looked at the witch. "You can climb a rope, right?"

"Can I climb a rope," Chris muttered darkly. "Of course I can."

From above came the sounds of Wyatt and Sam's footfall, along with their search for a rope. The moonlight disappeared under the veil of yet another collection clouds. The only light from above was from their brothers' flashlights.

Sam's head popped over the side of the hole. "Dean!" There was relief in his voice. In one swift move he released the rope into the trap, the extra length of it curling around in a pile near Chris. "Did the witch do this?"

The smile on Dean's face at that moment was one-hundred-percent authentic. It was the first time Chris had ever seen the hunter smile, and he felt an odd tug at his heartstrings. Was that endearment?

He felt the urge to slap himself.

"Yeah," came Dean's answer. "But damn, took you guys long enough! Did you waste her?"

His hands gripped the rope and tugged it taut, making sure it was stable. He gestured at Chris to climb up the rope first. Chris wondered why, but he didn't question it. Within moments he was making his way up, albeit with a little bit of difficulty.

Sam replied while Chris continued upward. "Hell yeah, we did. Wyatt hit her with this—this _thing_, and then I shot her. She's in the house."

Dean's response came once the young witch was all the way out of the pit and he started climbing, himself. "Too bad I missed it!" He was out in mere seconds, and once standing, he brushed the dirt off of his jeans, moving toward Sam to clasp him on the arm. "Good job, Sam." He looked at Wyatt then, with whom Chris was conversing.

"You okay, Chris?"

"Yeah, Wy, I'm fine."

Wyatt shook his head. "This one was nasty…she had voodoo dolls of each of us. Thankfully Sam was there,"—he turned to the hunter—"cause I couldn't get near them until he destroyed the link. Well, that, and she had these nasty herbs to ward off good." That seemed to make him a little irritated, and he eyed the pit briefly before continuing on. "Were you guys…stuck in there the _whole_ time?"

"Yeah. We came in here thinking she had taken refuge or something, but the next thing we knew, we were in the hole, and I couldn't orb us out."

Chris didn't know why he didn't tell Wyatt it had been Dean's fault that they had fallen in the hole—that he had dragged him along by his arm. But he supposed there was a reason. After all, there usually was.

Maybe he just couldn't see it yet.

Sam looked quite content with himself. He gave Dean a brief, but tight, hug. "Looks like we can all get some rest with her dead now. We should get out of here, though. Those symbols are everywhere…probably hidden in places we can't see. Wyatt felt it ever since we came in here."

Chris wondered why he hadn't felt them at first. Then he recalled how exhausted he was after chasing Dean all the way through the house and across the field. He wouldn't have been able to tell the difference in that case.

"Yeah, let's get back to the car and get out of here," Dean agreed, wiping a hand across the back of his neck. He moved away from his brother and past Chris, turning his head just enough to give him a brief glance as he went by. It sent a chill up the young witch's back.

He was the last to start walking, after Sam and Wyatt began following Dean.

"We should go out or something," Wyatt said with a smile once they were out in the field. "To dinner. I dunno. Maybe even Mom's restaurant. You know, celebrate a job well done."

Sam looked at Chris and Wyatt with curiosity etched into his features. "Your mom owns a restaurant?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's pretty popular," Wyatt said.

"That'd be awesome…"

Chris furrowed his brow. Going to the restaurant meant running into their mother, most assuredly, and he didn't really want that. In fact, the less he had to share with his mother about the hunters, the better. Mel had been an unfortunate victim of circumstance, being present upon their arrival. But he knew she could be trusted not to say a word. Going to the restaurant, on the other hand, was pure suicide. Their only excuse was to say Dean and Sam were friends. That would draw the barrage of questions that he just wasn't prepared for.

"Why don't we go to her club instead?" Chris suggested when they arrived at the impala.

Dean, Sam and Wyatt had been discussing food options, but the mentioning of the club caught the attention of all three.

"A club, too?" Dean asked. He snorted, obviously amused. He turned to Chris and gave him a wink. "Who knew someone so neurotic could come from someone so apparently kick-ass?"

Chris rolled his eyes.


	6. P3

**Author's Notes: **Hi all! Man, is it snowy here. I should be at work right now but, uh, there's like 7 inches of snow and black ice and freezing rain hanging out outside, and I'm kind of scared to go out...!

I've been busy these past few days. I got blindsided by this inspiration to write a story for the Elder Scrolls video game series, which has kind of stopped the writing of this story. I'm gonna try and switch back and forth with them, keeping my interest up in both. I know how many people enjoy this story, and how much I enjoy writing it, so I'm gonna keep up with it as best I can. Since I only update weekly and I haven't posted any of the other story (I'm about 35 pages in, just under four chapters), so we'll see how it goes!

As always, please let me know what you think of the chapter. It always makes my day. :D

_Destatikai:_ Aww, awesome. I'm glad you liked it so much. That part, too, is definitely one of my favorite parts...I love the whole scene with them trapped in the pit. They're so real at that moment. Haha! Just...pure Chris and Dean.

_Blueeyesbetter: _That's Dean for ya. I never realized the age difference between Chris and Dean until just a little bit ago...it's fun to mess with!

_

* * *

_

"_Dude_."

Dean watched as Wyatt and Chris chatted briefly with the club bouncer. Within seconds they were all permitted entrance without so much as a fuss. Getting into a club had _never _been that easy, especially one with a line as long as the one outside of P3.

He was thankful that he had tugged off his jacket and left it in the impala—the inside of the club was warm, with a low beat pulsing through it. There were people everywhere. Dean thought for a split second that it was no wonder how the Halliwells had such an expensive house and such nice vehicles. With a restaurant and a club this successful, they obviously had money to spare.

On their way further into the club, Sam reached over and nudged Dean, gesturing toward some attractive blondes sitting at a table along their path. The sight had his head turning on his neck, his eyes lingering on them as they passed. Lifting his eyebrows and sending them one of his patented 'Dean Winchester' smiles, he nearly ran into Wyatt's back as they got to their seats. Wyatt just chuckled in response.

The foursome sat down at one of the round edges of the bar. With the way that Sam and Wyatt sat, Dean was forced to sit to the left of Chris. Had he not wanted to make some sort of scene, he would have made Sam switch places with him. The last thing he wanted right now was to sit next to the witch. _Especially_ after what had just happened between them.

"What do you guys want?" Chris asked.

"I'll take a beer," Sam said. "Just to start with."

"Whiskey, thanks," Dean said. He shifted for the first time—and certainly not the last—that night. Pointedly avoiding Chris's gaze, he glanced down at Wyatt and asked, "Do they have those…potato things with cheese here?"

"Cheese fries?" Wyatt asked.

"Yeah, those," Dean replied, grinning. "With chili."

"They've got 'em," Chris interjected suddenly. He shot Dean a look, whistling over one of the bartenders.

While Chris ordered, Dean let his eyes wander, though when they happened across the other, he paused. The lights of the club looked good, shining on him in warm tones. Shaking himself out of that thought, Dean turned with determination back to the blondes. There were a few of them, more than enough to go around. There was definite potential for removal of the weird feelings and thoughts inside of his head. And on top of that, there was even more potential for fun.

When he looked forward again, he noticed that the dark haired witch was staring at him.

"So, Dean. Ever been to a place like this?"

Dean blinked at the question. "Like this? Oh, yeah, sure…not my first choice, really, but." He shrugged, because as long a place had alcohol and girls, it was okay by him. But then he wondered if Chris was making fun of him, like he wasn't classy enough to frequent places as nice as this. He turned more fully to him, frowning a little, but saying nothing.

"Huh," Chris offered, looking toward the bar to take the soda he ordered. Dean found it interesting that he hadn't ordered a _drink_—he didn't know that the other didn't do so, at least very often. After taking a sip Chris looked back at Dean. "Mom's club is a bit of both, you know? Highbrow and lowbrow, I mean. Depends on the night, depends on the people. Weekends you usually get the higher brow people."

That felt like a direct attack at Dean. He simply stared at Chris for a moment, trying to read his face. Instead he found his attention drifting again to the other's various features, like his mouth, his eyes, and his neck. Warmth spread throughout his stomach, and he fought the urge to groan in frustration.

"I guess I'm one of the low brow?" he finally asked, trying to goad Chris into an argument without fully understanding that was what he was doing. These sorts of comments came naturally to him, and had almost jeopardized quite a few of their jobs, with his quips to police and other authority figures.

When his glass of whiskey came he turned away from the witch, pointedly looking towards the blondes again while taking a sip.

"You said it, not me," Chris said, irritation evident in his tone. The goading had worked perfectly, and the dark haired witch had taken it hook, line and sinker—Dean could tell. "Stupid."

Dean just smirked into his glass, not looking at the other when he murmured in response, just loud enough for Chris to hear, "Bitch." His eyes stayed locked on the giggling, flirty looking women nearby, but all his attention was focused acutely on the young man sitting next to him—close enough that Dean could swear he felt the warmth of him radiating onto his own bare forearm.

Chris's next words came out in an obviously distasteful mutter: "Not like _them_."

Dean wanted to look, wanted to glare at Chris and prove him wrong somehow. But he couldn't. He _couldn't_ risk looking at the witch, knowing precisely that the warmth in his stomach was only going to grow tenfold if he did. He continued watching the blondes, taking a swig of his whiskey and giving a satisfied sigh afterward.

"Yeah, but I'm not going home with _you_."

What happened next surprised Dean. He felt Chris shuffling in the seat beside him, and when he looked back, he saw that he was now up and out of the chair. "Guess you aren't trying hard enough." Those words had been spoken quietly, just loud enough for the two of them to hear. Then louder, he announced, "I've gotta pee."

Dean knew that what Chris said should have just made him laugh, because true, he wasn't trying hard enough. But instead of letting it go, the hex seemed to strengthen, and something throbbed inside his chest, making him see the words as more of a challenge. He kept in his seat for a while, long enough for Chris to get lost in the crowd, before he drained the rest of his glass, stood, and then wandered away from the bar.

He was of two minds at that moment: one told him to go directly to the girls he had been watching; the other told him to chase after Chris.

He ended up heading to the bathroom, near certain Chris thought that he _wouldn't_. And Dean wasn't about to be chumped.

*

Back at the bar, Sam watched as Dean and Chris both suddenly got up, although at different times. Chris had said he was going to the bathroom, but his own brother had risen without so much as a single word. Although he didn't see where Dean wandered off to, he had a pretty good idea.

He chuckled. "You know, I wondered how long it'd take before Dean would go off and find those girls we saw when we came in. I'm surprised he lasted that long."

"Yeah, I saw him looking at them," Wyatt said. "And I saw them looking back…he must get that everywhere." He smiled a little and shook his head, as if slightly impressed.

Of course, had either of them known where their brothers truly were…

"He really does. It kind of 'goes with the territory', I guess. That's what he says. It makes me laugh."

The way Dean said it was the best part, really, in Sam's opinion, and he tried to mimic it as best as he could, but it turned out harder than he thought, and he botched it. He just ended up laughing afterward, taking a sip of his beer.

Wyatt shifted on the bar and gave Sam a considering look. "Must be hard, trying to have a relationship. You know, doing what you guys do."

"Pretty much," was all Sam said, recalling the very brief one he had had—if one could call it that—a while ago, with Madison. But it was hard to think about that and not let it sour his mood, and he took another drink just because of the memory. Dean had it pretty easy, he supposed, not having to deal with stuff like that. Sam was certainly the more sensitive of the two, the one who preferred a good, solid relationship and an emotional connection, as opposed to simple sex.

Not that he, too, didn't want that every now and again, but.

He shook his head. "I dunno. It's what we're used to, I guess. What about you and your brother? Isn't it hard, trying to do all this and keep someone along? Especially since I bet you can't tell everyone about…you know." _The magic_, he mouthed.

"It's a little hard, yeah," Wyatt agreed. "I mean, my mom and dad want us to find the right person, but sometimes I get the feeling that they want us to find another…"—he lowered his voice as he trailed off—"another witch. Maybe not necessarily one with real powers, but at least a practicing one."

"Well…yeah, I guess that'd make sense," Sam said thoughtfully, speaking quieter now as well. "Other witches would make the family line continue on, right? If you mix in too many mortals..."

He was just about to say something when he noticed a group of adults making their way to the bar not too far away from them, one of whom was obviously Piper. He could recognize her based on the pictures of her scattered around the manor. Eyes widening slightly and a nervous sort of laugh escaping him, Sam hissed, "_Dude_, it's your _mom_."

Wyatt was taking a drink at the time. Glancing up at the mention of his mother, he swallowed a too-big gulp of his beer and winced as it went down. Uncertainty and discomfort wavered on his face.

"Let's just pretend we're not here," Sam offered. Wyatt seemed to blanche due to their presence, and the last thing they needed was more discomfort. He grinned, winking. "Huh?"

The way that Wyatt hunched over was reminiscent of a kid trying not to be seen, and Sam couldn't help but snort at the goofy expression that took over the blond's face. Sam wondered if Wyatt could actually hide from them. He was pretty unique—and _tall_, like the younger hunter was. It was hard to hide that much height.

"Where the hell is Chris?" Wyatt muttered. He lifted his beer to his lips.

*

Dean nearly bumped into another man coming out of the restroom when he stepped up to the entryway, but managed to slip past him. Oddly enough it was almost empty inside, and he stopped where he was, letting the door shut.

Chris emerged from one of the stalls a moment later, catching sight of Dean. A surprised expression took over his face, although he quickly hid it and headed straight for the sink, as if the hunter weren't even there.

Dean pressed his lips together as Chris ignored him. He shouldn't have let himself follow the other, he realized, because now he appeared desperate, and he hated feeling like that.

Especially when he _wasn't_.

"Look," he finally said, convincing himself he'd followed Chris to say what he had to say. "Just stop, okay? I know it's not _you_, but…can't you control it a little better?" He looked put out. It was just as much his fault, but he was upset. He didn't like taking the blame, and above all hated taking it for something as uncomfortable and wrong as this.

His words fell on apparent deaf ears. Chris walked to the paper towel dispenser, tugging a few down so he could wipe his hands. When he finally addressed Dean, his words—as well as the look on his face—showed how tired he felt.

"Can't _I_ control it a little better? Do you think this is any easier for me? Especially when you look at those girls? It's driving me _nuts_, because I shouldn't _care_."

He balled up the paper towels and threw them harshly into the nearby trash bin. His eyes locked on Dean. "It's eating me like a god damn _monster_ inside, and it makes me _sick_."

"What am I supposed to _do_?" Dean demanded, trying to keep himself from roaring it at the younger one. "They're what I'm _supposed_ to be looking at and wanting. That's who I _am. _Should I just say fuck it and give in to it? Into…into _this_?" He felt heated and flushed again. A hint of color rose in his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.

It wasn't an entirely bad idea, he thought, permitting his eyes to take in the image of the one standing before the sink. He could give in just a little, like he had in the pit—maybe it would ease his mind, ease the pressure. The more they resisted, the worse it got. It only made sense for the opposite to be true: the less they resisted, the less intense it got.

With that logic in mind, Dean made a quick move over to Chris, taking him by the hips. "Go with me on this," he murmured, latching his mouth to the witch's in a fierce kiss. If he were right, it would kill the tension.

At first, Dean felt Chris resisting. He remained relentless, however, which soon led to Chris kissing back. Dean felt the other's arms coming up to press against the thin fabric of the shirt on his chest. He didn't let go, waiting urgently for the feeling to go away. It didn't this time, though, because he was trying too hard. That angered him, which in turn only fueled it further.

He managed to break the kiss after a moment's hesitation. They were in the middle of a fucking public restroom, for God's sake, and Dean had his hands all over the witch.

"This is so wrong," he huffed, his hand having gripped Chris's hip.

Dean was on the verge of just giving in completely, because he wasn't used to so much sexual tension that he couldn't easily remedy. This was one challenge he felt he might just lose, as upsetting as that was.

Chris stared at him after he spoke, but he said nothing. Dean was about to say something else when the witch's lips were on his again. There was no hunger in his kiss, and Dean quickly identified it as exploratory, much like the one on his part that had instigated this whole thing.

Because he had better control of his faculties Dean gripped Chris's hip a bit more firmly, easily nudging him back into the stall he had come from. With swift, almost expert movements he had the stall shut and locked. What they were doing would still be completely _wrong_, but at least in here there would be no worry about it being as conspicuous.

"This isn't working like I thought," he admitted softly to Chris, his face barely an inch away from the other's. The tip of his nose nudged against the one opposite him, his eyes closing for a beat. "I think we need to leave the bathroom."

"You're the one that pushed us into the stall," Chris said, the mildest hint of incredulity in his voice. But he was nudging his nose back, and Dean could feel the soft exhalations of breath from it against his lips.

"Okay, sorry, I was, uh, under the impression you _didn't _want to get caught," Dean murmured sarcastically. He didn't pull away from Chris, and continued to firmly hold on to his hip.

Chris ignored his comment. "There's an office in here, in the club. My mom only uses it on Wednesdays, for paperwork…"

An office sounded much better than the stall they were in. Though it was by far cleaner than some of the bathrooms Dean had been to in clubs, it was still cramped and a _bathroom stall_, which wasn't nearly private enough.

Wait, why did he want privacy in the first place?

Leaning in, he gave Chris a brief kiss, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and nipping it before pulling back. "All right, let's just…take it there," he said. His lips and the area around them were flushed from kissing, and that flush had settled comfortably onto his nose and cheeks.

"Come on, let's get out of the stall, and you can take us to the office."

Dean shifted and started to undo the lock on the stall. Before he got it all the way undone, Chris reached out, grabbing his wrist insistently.

"No, I've got a better idea."

The next thing Dean knew, they were orbing up and out of the bathroom. His mouth was still partially open in protest when they landed in a completely dark room. He felt disoriented and somewhat sick. But Chris flicked on a light nearby, which cast a gentle glow over the room around them. The walls were full of posters of various bands that had played at P3 over the years, and on the right-hand corner near the locked door was a large bulletin board, upon which hung schedules of all kinds. They were in the office.

Dean saw Chris smirking, and that was it. He was off. He reached out and wrapped an arm around his waist, kissing him again. His other hand came up and ran through the witch's dark brown hair, which was soft and smooth, a decent contrast to the spiky and bristly nature of his own hair.

The kiss lasted a significantly short amount of time compared to their other ones, but there was none of that urgency that pulsed through them before. Dean caught Chris simpering, and he cocked an eyebrow in response. His hand trailed from the witch's hair until his index finger hooked in a loop of Chris's jeans. His other arm remained loosely wrapped around his waist.

"Now that you've got me here, what were you planning on doing to me?" Dean snorted. "I've gotta warn you, I've been manhandled by _plenty_ of witches, so you better make it good."

"You've been manhandled by plenty of witches," Chris repeated, a look of complete disbelief on his face. "Somehow, I doubt that." He gave Dean another kiss.

Dean started laughing, even as Chris kissed him, pulling his head back. "Think I'm joking?" he asked, looking intently at him. "I've been thrown through walls, had my lungs bleed, been choked, thrown across a room…you name it." He smirked. "Like I said the first time I saw you, I hate witches."

He moved forward and kissed Chris again, obviously not holding the fact that he was a witch against him. Dean was nothing if not backwards and conflicted and confused. But, he'd been raised that way, so why was this going to be any different?

He was beginning to think that, if it felt good, then there really was no reason _not_ to enjoy it. As long as it stayed a secret…

When the kiss broke again, Chris gazed at Dean, curiosity glinting in his eyes. "I wouldn't exactly call that the same kind of manhandled. Does this mean I have to throw you into walls and use my powers on you? Are you a masochist or something?"

"Being a masochist is sort of a job requirement, I think."

He shrugged, and then leaned in to nip at Chris's neck. The skin was rough—rougher than he was used to feeling on someone's neck. He didn't know what he thought of that.

"And if you really think it's necessary, you can throw me against a wall," he continued.

He chuckled, feeling foolish. Thinking about those things sort of cooled his arousal, but he was oddly comfortable, holding onto the other like he was. It occurred to him that maybe he was just caring less and less as he neared the end. It wasn't like he had to worry about going against nature or anything. He was already headed for Hell, anyways.

_Sin number six hundred and sixty-six_, he thought wryly, amusing himself.

"I'll just save it for some other time," Chris laughed. "When I want to kick your ass for real."

Chris's arousal seemed to have cooled down, as well, which was welcome. As Dean had suspected, it just took them calming down at each other for it to fade. And yet, even when it had, he still didn't take his arms from around Chris's waist. It felt nice just to hold someone, whoever that person was. He'd miss it, especially if that demon-bitch Ruby was right, and he turned demon himself while in Hell.

That thought made Dean shudder. He finally pulled away, hating when his thoughts drifted in that direction.

He would _not_ become a demon, of that he was determined. He just wouldn't.

Chris looked concerned rather than agitated when Dean shied away. "What's wrong?"

Their moment was over. Dean felt awkward and very self-aware in that instant. He wouldn't make another mistake like that. Looking up, he cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to play it off. "Huh? Nothin'…just…" He gave another brief shake and wiped his hand over his mouth, turning to the door. "I need another drink."

Dean knew Chris probably wanted him to open up and tell him what was going on. That was generally what people did in situations like this, and he understood that. But the thing was, there was no _real_ intimacy between them; only a hex that made them want to rip each other's clothing off. How could Chris ever _begin_ to understand what Dean had done for his brother? He'd probably get mad and berate him for doing it, and Dean just didn't want to hear it. It was what he had _had_ to do. He just couldn't have gone on without Sam.

And without fancy magical powers to help heal one another, he'd done it the only way he knew how.

The sound of the door opening brought him back into focus. His distant gaze disappeared. For a beat he stared at Chris, and then soon walked past him, through the open door, sucking at his teeth a little as he avoided the other's eyes.

When they wandered back over to where Wyatt and Sam were, Chris ordered Dean another whiskey and took a seat right where he had been before, without so much as a hello to either of the others sitting there. Dean, on the other hand, greeted both his brother and the other witch. Unlike before, where he had fought to keep his distance from Chris, this time it really wasn't a priority of his.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said. He looked cheerful. "So, did you get any numbers? You were out there for a while."

Dean gave Sam a blank stare at first. He had no idea what he was talking about. But then he blinked, realizing his brother must have thought he had gone to flirt with those girls from before.

"Oh, yeah, totally, man," he said, pushing on a smile and patting his pocket, as if it were full of numbers.

Then the whiskey came. He picked it up, downing the entire thing and tapping the glass against the counter, signaling quickly for another. He didn't catch the wary look that Wyatt gave him, or that he gave to Chris.

"Wyatt," Chris began suddenly, only to shake his head and wave his hand dismissively a moment later. "Actually, never mind."

Dean eyed the witches intently. The sound of his brother's voice broke his concentration.

"M'surprised you're not over there talking them up some more. We've got some more time to kill…"

Sam didn't realize it, but he had hit a nerve. Dean slammed down the third drink after it was set before him; it burned a little, and he set the glass on the bar top, looking over at his brother.

"Just stopped to get a drink," he said, sliding off the stool again and moving away from them before anyone could stop him.

He was like a wolf on the prowl, and the blondes nearby were his prey. When he showed up at their table he was all lascivious grins and flirtatious eyes. The drinks in his system were burning like fuel, and the sore nerve inside of him still smarted.

He was determined not to let this evening turn sour. These lovely women were going to make sure of that for him. After introducing himself, he waited to be invited to sit—which took very little time—and acted much more interested in them than he truly was. Any time a thought of Chris entered his head he quickly swatted it away, honing his focus sharply on the three blondes in front of him.

Dean was just about to lean in and rest his arms on the table when the three women before him suddenly became indescribably hideous. Their gorgeous, captivating faces now revolted him. Their hair, once shiny and silky, now appeared grimy and broken.

He may have not been _completely_ shallow, but to hell with going home with any one of them, he thought. The lighting in the club and the drinks in his system must have been playing games with his eyes, making them look prettier than they were.

It wasn't impossible…it had happened before.

The older hunter excused himself and hastily retreated to the bar, now standing beside Chris, whose smug look and brief 'coughing' fit he missed out on, because his focus was on his brother.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but the dark haired witch cut him off.

"Back so soon?"

"Those girls…aren't so hot up close." He frowned, feeling foolish. He looked a little disturbed, too. Had Dean known it was a spell cast by Chris that had caused the women to only _appear _unattractive, he would have been infuriated. But he didn't. Hell, he didn't even know that kind of thing was possible. As it was, he was just glad to get away in time.

Wyatt, obviously curious, stole a glance from the women's direction. He gave a light wolf-whistle, grinning. "Look good enough to me."

"Don't believe Wyatt," Chris said with a chuckle. "He's always had horrible taste in women."

"I dunno…" Sam looked over at the women in question, too, considering. He turned his head back to the others. "I'd say Wyatt's got pretty good taste. Those girls aren't hard on the eyes at all."

Unknown to him was the fact that Chris's 'coughing fit' had really been a counter-spell; when Dean looked back over at the women he no longer saw the ugly forms, but the attractive ones, and he stared almost stupidly. Lifting his hand, he ran it over his eyes. Perhaps the hex also forced him to see women as hideous next to Chris. If that was true, then _that_ was unfair.

With a huff, he sat on the stool again, expression rather exhausted.

How was he supposed to deal with this?


	7. Discussion

**Author's Notes: **Hi everybody! So here's chapter seven of the story. Woot! It's...really long, and is all one scene, which hasn't happened in a chapter of mine for...years, I think. Or at least, any story that I've actually posted! There is one thing to take notice of this time around, and that is that there is a POV change about halfway through the chapter. It switches from Dean to Chris, and that I did for a multitude of reasons. For one, Dean's reactions throughout the chapter are important--the reason why this is in the SPN category is due to its heavy influence of the Winchesters. The Charmed bits are still there, obviously, with Chris, but soon the story takes a turn more toward the Winchesters, with Chris remaining an important character, but taking sort of a back seat...

I haven't actually written any more for this story just yet, and that's for another multitude of reasons. The upcoming chapter is going to be probably just as long, if not longer, than this one, and it has a lot of intricate things that I need to work out...there's also a big jump in time that I need to deal with, and some POV things. It's just a mess, but in a good way. I only work every other day or so this week so I'm hoping that I'll get it done in time. I'm also working on another story for a different fandom, but I'm not posting that story until I'm done with it. It's got a ways to go, though.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as the others :D Please don't forget to let me know what you thought!

* * *

Chris spent the next few days thinking about how much of a sick and twisted situation he was in. The hex was certainly going to make fools out of him and Dean if they let it, and with someone as stubborn as him, and someone as _equally_ stubborn as Dean…

Well, it wouldn't really do to just let things stay the way they were.

As he had promised Dean, he said nothing to Wyatt. It felt strange keeping something like that private from his brother, but it was definitely for the best. He didn't want—or need—to hear anything about it, especially from him. Wyatt was great and all, but he seemed to think that his way was always the best way, even when it wasn't. Chris knew there was a way out of this. He would find it himself.

Upon hearing that Wyatt was going to pick up Sam and spend some time with him, getting to know him better, Chris figured it was time that he and Dean talked about the hex. He knew they would run the risk of falling victim to it again, but that was only if they got angry with each other. All they would need to do was keep their tempers under control.

Chris could do that. Really.

He waited to leave once he knew for sure that his brother was gone from both the manor _and_ the hotel where Dean and Sam were staying. Dean would definitely be there—Wyatt had mentioned Sam saying something about him having gone out and drunk himself into a stupor the night before.

Sure enough, when Chris arrived in the somewhat messy hotel room, there was a lump rolled up under the off-white and brown comforter of the bed that looked an awful lot like Dean. He stood beside him for a moment, wondering how he should wake the other man up. In the end he settled on just plopping onto the bed. The foot of the bed groaned under the sudden weight and the mattress twisted, causing Dean to move around some.

Once the bed settled, Dean barely shifted of his own accord. He did, however, mutter something.

"If you're here to kill me…get in line, bitch."

At that point he pulled the covers further over his head. Chris didn't see him reaching for the shining silver knife beneath the pillow.

Chris snorted. "'Get in line, bitch'?" That was an unexpected response. "If I were a demon, you'd _probably_ be dead by now." He got up and off of the bed then, not wanting to incur the sudden wrath of a hung-over hunter. He folded his arms over his chest and eyed Dean with a curious glance. "It's like…noon. Why are you still asleep?" Although technically, he already knew the answer.

Dean gave a quiet groan, lifting his head from the pillow before knitting his brow and eying Chris blearily. "No…they like to play with me a while before they try to kill me." The knife became visible once Dean sat up and rubbed the back of his wrist across his eyes. He pulled the comforter further up to cover his nearly naked form. Chris could see he was only wearing boxers.

"God," Dean grumbled. He sent an acerbic look in the witch's direction. "What're _you _doing here?"

Chris watched silently as the older hunter slipped to the edge of the bed, climbed out, and then headed over to the antiquated kitchenette on the right side of the room. He started fumbling around with the coffee pot, tugging out the container and pouring some water in it before preparing the filter. Dean being as scantily-clad as he was did very little to help the weird feeling inside of Chris that was already causing his stomach to move around in uncomfortable, unseemly ways.

He averted his eyes and looked out the window. "Wyatt came to pick up Sam so they could hand out. I, uh, I thought I'd come over and see if we couldn't figure some way to get rid of this damn hex."

"Yeah...where the hell are those two getting off to, anyway?" Dean asked, leaning over the sink.

He ran water over his hands and then ducked his head under the running tap, letting it pour over his hair and around his face. Grabbing the towel hanging over the rickety chair, Dean turned off the water and began drying himself off, sniffling and rubbing his eyes, which were dark.

Chris didn't realize Dean had asked him another question until the older one snapped his fingers. He had been staring.

"Hey, Chris, wake up."

"Huh?"

"I asked you a question. Do you got some idea of how to fix this thing?"

Chris shook his head. "No, I don't, I just—" he stopped, finding himself staring again despite his best efforts not to. Though he had willpower, he didn't trust himself under this hex to follow through with it. "Could you…I dunno, maybe put some clothes on?" Once again he stared at the shape of Dean's body. He was defined, certainly more so than Chris himself was, with a few scars here and there on the lightly tanned skin of his shoulders and chest. They caught Chris's attention.

Dean, despite looking exhausted, managed a rather smug smirk. "Hey, I know it's hard to look at perfection, but you should learn to just appreciate the view." He ran his hand over his stomach in what Chris assumed was a deliberately teasing move, before turning to the coffee pot, which beeped to announce that it was ready.

Dean poured himself a cup and then dragged himself past Chris to the duffel bag resting at the foot of the bed. He began rummaging through it.

Chris hurriedly moved to sit in one of the chairs at the nearby café table that sat near the sliding glass door. He unfortunately fell victim again to staring at Dean's butt, although this time, he paid more attention to the shape within the underwear. It disturbed him how intrigued by it he was, and he tore his glance away.

"You're far from perfect," he said.

Dean retrieved the badly labeled bottle of pills and popped a few of them, chasing them down with coffee, before he responded. "There's a string of girls out there who'd tell you otherwise, I can promise." He pinched the bridge of his nose, a distinct look of discomfort rising on his face. The coffee must have been too hot.

The hunter walked to the table then, taking a seat in the other chair. Chris didn't fail to notice that Dean had blatantly ignored his request for him to put on more clothes.

"I don't really care about a string of girls' opinions," Chris finally said, and somewhat flatly, with an uninterested look on his face. He spoke sharply then, so as to change the subject. "Anyways. I'm thinking we need find this trickster again if we're gonna get rid of this hex."

Dean gave a noncommittal, whatever-you-say shrug at first, but when Chris finished speaking, he cocked an eyebrow. "Have you ever even _dealt _with a trickster before? Because I have, and the one I've dealt with isn't even a demon. He's a low-level _god_, and immortal, and if that was what got us this time, then we're lucky we're not dead.

"Tricksters…they go after arrogant people, or people too full of themselves. They thrive on delivering just desserts." He leaned forward, putting his elbow on the table and his head in his hand. "This whole thing would be right up their alley. Seeing us argue like we were, taking that anger and turning it totally around." He sighed and rubbed his fingers over his forehead. "And bonus points that we're both guys. Straight guys...at least in my case," he added, a cocksure sort of grin appearing on his face.

Chris bristled at Dean's comment. "Ha. Ha," he laughed dryly. "I'm just as straight as the next guy. Just because I don't go around making lewd comments about women and trying to screw the first thing I see with a vagina doesn't mean I'm not."

Growing up in a family with three powerful women had taught him a lot of respect—respect that Dean obviously didn't have. He could have made a retort about how Dean didn't have a mother to teach him that, but he wasn't going to be mean. And he _certainly_ wasn't going to open up the can of worms that came whenever they got angry. That was out of the question.

The trickster, however, didn't worry Chris very much. Hearing that they were low-level gods meant very little. If he couldn't do something, Wyatt most certainly could. As jealous as it made him sometimes, it was nonetheless true that his brother was the strongest force on the _planet_, when he wanted to be. A low level god would do well to avoid him.

And it was entirely possible that when they had been there that night in the warehouse, it had avoided him for that very reason.

But who knew?

"If we can't deal with it ourselves, we'll get Wyatt to take care of it," Chris explained. "We don't have to tell him what the hex did, just that one was put on us. He won't ask. That can be a last resort measure."

Dean seemed stuck on what Chris had said before. He gave him a dark stare, sipping some of his coffee. He spoke in a low tone. "I _don't_ make lewd comments about women, and I _don't_ try to fuck the first thing with a vagina I see." He shot his attention to the digital clock on the nightstand nearby for a moment before looking back at Chris, obviously displeased.

"Anyway, why don't you work on that, then, you and Wyatt? I've got bigger fucking problems to worry about."

"Because this is a problem between the two of _us_," Chris replied, feeling heated. He took a moment to try and cool down. It wouldn't do to get angry right now. "And if we can't take care of it, what the hell does that say about us?" He almost added 'as defenders of good', but because of the huge corny factor of it, he omitted it. "Besides. Seems like we've _both_ been through some pretty big shit in our lives. Handling this shouldn't be as hard as it seems."

Dean only gave a small sound of acknowledgment at what Chris said, running his fingers over his eyes. He stayed silent for a minute. Then, wearily, he said:

"Or, maybe I should just grab Sam and get the hell out of this damn town. I can't want you if I'm five hundred miles away from you."

"Good luck getting him away from Wyatt. They seem pretty buddy-buddy now."

There was something more to what Dean said, something that Chris couldn't put his finger on. It bothered him. But still, not being sure, he didn't push it. Plus, he hated proceeding without knowing all the information involved.

"Besides, you know hexes only get worse with time. Just desserts only do, too. And I don't want to deal with this for the rest of my life. I doubt you want to, either."

Dean gave a bitter sort of laugh. He wrinkled up his nose. "Fine. All right. Whatever." He glanced at Chris with a dull expression. "What did you have in mind?"

_Good_, Chris thought. Dean was finally ready to get down to business.

He leaned back in the chair. "I was thinking we could trace it. Go back to the warehouse and find some remnants of it, and then follow it. If it's as powerful as you say it is, we'll want to get familiar with it before we deal with it. There may be something in the _Book_,"—Chris paused suddenly—"I mean, there may be something back home about it that I'll be able to find. I think we can do this pretty easy."

"What book?" Dean asked, perking up a little. "And pretty _easy_?" he repeated. He knit his eyebrows. "You think you can just go home and look something up in some damn book and poof, you can fix it?" he asked darkly, frowning. "This shit is never that easy."

There was something like envy in his voice—or something that Chris interpreted as envy. Dean's words also sounded as if they lacked spirit, and were dark. It was a complete change of pace from what he was used to hearing.

"How the hell do you fight with this kind of attitude?" he asked bluntly, looking almost offended. "You sound like a wimp. And you're frowning, too. This isn't the Dean that I see when he's hunting. What's with the attitude change?"

Dean appeared taken aback. "Since when do you have any right to call me on my attitude?" Glaring at nothing in particular, he then slouched in his chair. What he said next surprised Chris.

"Maybe I just feel a little left out. Sam's…run off with your brother, and the only reason you're here is to get rid of me. If I wasn't so damn hung over I'd just leave town by my own damn self."

Dean's posture and attitude reminded Chris of a little kid. He snorted.

"Well, aren't you just a little grumpy," he said. "Maybe I wouldn't be in such a hurry to get rid of you if you'd stop acting like such a brat."

Really, he wasn't much better, but he was at least trying. And to him, that made all the difference in the world. He sat up straight then and looked at Dean almost square in the eye.

"I can respect that you hunt, and I can respect that you're good at what you do. But I can't respect _you_ when you look like someone just beat the crap out of you. If you feel a little left out, then let's get this damn thing out of our lives. At least then you'll have something to distract yourself from your little hung-over pity party."

"Oh, believe me, you don't know the meaning of 'pity party'," Dean grumbled, letting out a bitter sounding chuckle. Pushing himself up, he then moved back over to the bed, dropping limply onto the disheveled comforter and burying his face in the pillow.

Chris couldn't believe this. He didn't know whether it was the after-effects of the alcohol or what, but Dean was acting completely different than he had ever seen him. He looked painfully defeated. And, even if it wasn't Chris's place to know why he looked that way, he still felt the need to ask. If this was going to affect the way Dean hunted this trickster with him, then it was going to affect him personally. As such, he was vested in the other's well being.

"What's going _on_?" he asked, less rudely and more curiously.

"Life sucks, and then you die," Dean quipped, though he didn't sound as bitingly sarcastic as he normally did. He lifted his hand, scrubbing it over his face.

There was something about that answer, something that just…rubbed Chris the wrong way. He wasn't really sure what it was, but he knew he didn't like it. And because of that, he felt almost like coming here had been a waste. Dean was hung over, depressed, acting like an idiot, and being cryptic, none of which were going to help them in getting rid of the trickster or the hex upon them.

Frustrated, the young witch stood up, letting out a sound as if he were going to say something, but then stopped himself. His hands were out in a gesture that Dean couldn't see—and it was probably better he didn't, because Chris didn't even know what it meant, other than to show his frustration.

"Whatever," he finally said, voice final. "If you're gonna act like this, I'm just gonna try and find a solution, myself."

Despite the rage—and consequent lust—building inside of him, Chris prepared himself to leave.

"But before I do, can I just say that whatever's going on, you better get over it? Because there's a lot more going on out there than you think. And you're gonna need to deal. If not for your own sake, than for your brother's."

That apparently hit Dean hard enough to knock some sense into him. The older hunter pushed himself onto his side, twisting slightly to face Chris. "I think I'm a hell of a lot deeper into it than you think I am," he said, almost challengingly. "I've given _everything_ I can for Sammy's sake. I've been _dealing_ since I was four, and I watched my mother _die_, pinned to the _ceiling_."

He dropped back to the pillow, looking at the plain white ceiling. He heaved a sigh. "I'm _tired_. Sometimes it's…just too much." He narrowed his eyes as his expression grew harder. "I couldn't even hold my damn family together."

That, in effect, was really all Chris had been searching for. Some kind of explanation, something that would make sense as to why Dean was acting the way he was. And in every way, Chris could sympathize. Not empathize, having never lost his mother...or at least, not in this reality. It would likely screw with Dean's head if he tried to explain what a previous incarnation of himself had gone through to make sure his family didn't fall apart, but it seemed to be the only fitting thing to say right now.

"It's not all that great watching your mother die, is it?" he asked, hinting at more. "That's why I went back into the past...to change things. Or, well, a version of me did. In the one I _first_ grew up in, my mom died when I was fourteen. She was killed by a demon. Blew up, into pieces." He winced upon recalling it, looking almost ill. "All because Wyatt had turned evil and was on a rampage around the planet. But I did something about it. Like you. You just...can't let it get to you."

He sighed then, because he didn't know how else to put it without getting too wordy, which didn't seem right.

Chris hadn't known that about Chris or Wyatt, and though he'd been through a time loop, the mechanics of Chris going back in time were too much for his tired brain at the moment.

"That's not it," Dean said, very softly. He swallowed.

In a sudden move, Dean pushed himself up, swung his legs over the edge and reached out to gently take hold of Chris's hand.

He tensed. For all the witch knew, Dean was going to tug him onto the bed and try slicing his throat just to get him to shut up. Chris had seen the knife…

"What, then?" he asked, sounding almost apprehensive because he already should have guessed the answer.

"Just…sit. Okay?" Dean tugged lightly on Chris's hand. "I promise I won't bite." A slightly crooked smirk appeared on his face. "Unless you want me to."

Chris sat as Dean requested, receiving an intent stare from the other after doing so. Chris knew that the anger inside himself had subdued, as he didn't feel as strong of a pull to Dean right then and there. What he felt was anxiousness, and uncertainty. This was somewhat uncomfortable for him.

Dean's rough fingers held on firmly, but not tightly, to Chris's hand; something inside of him prevented Chris from pulling it away.

He licked his lips.

Dean lifted a hand to his neck, then leaned in and caught Chris in a kiss. It was soft and close-lipped, and he murmured against Chris's lips a moment later, "Just …for a minute."

Chris wasn't sure what was keeping him from pulling back from Dean and orbing home to the manor. Whatever it was, though, it definitely had to do with the gentleness with which Dean was now behaving. As repulsive as this whole thing seemed to him, at the same time, there was something drawing about it, just like every time before. The added tenderness seemed to make it just a little bit better—just a little bit more _bearable_.

He had no idea what in the world they were doing...

But it didn't seem to matter, really, at this point.

*

Chris placed a hand on Dean's thigh, moving in for another close-lipped kiss. Dean didn't break it, enjoying the warmth and the comfort that it seemed to bring him. He covered the other's hand with one of his own, though only for a second—after, his fingers slid lightly up Chris's forearm and curled around the crook of his elbow. His other hand had drifted toward Chris's collarbone, thumb idly stroking his throat.

This certainly wasn't the rushed, angry sort of touching and kissing that they'd had before, but it was still affecting him. Still only dressed in his boxers, it was hard to hide the inevitable reaction he had to touching and kissing Chris.

He let a short huff of air out his nose, tilting his head and parting his lips just enough to give the other's bottom lip an affectionate nip. Chris seemed to enjoy it, and was giving Dean the comfort he longed for, which he appreciated. Every moment, he expected Chris to pull away or shove him away.

The young witch let out a soft sigh, pulling away just long enough to brush and nudge his nose against Dean's before moving back in for another kiss. The nose nuzzling brought the slightest smile to the hunter's lips, and after a moment more of kissing he broke away, trailing his lips across Chris's jaw. He held Chris's neck on the opposite side with his hand, keeping him in place as he nuzzled the area behind the witch's ear with his nose.

"You've gotta admit…it's not _all_ bad," he murmured. He was beyond caring for the moment that he didn't go for guys. And at least Chris was good looking, for a guy. Dean could appreciate that.

"It's not," he admitted, but with a quiet snort.

Dean could feel him wince just slightly. He knew it was because of the scruff on his face. Surprisingly, Chris moved closer, as close as he could get without outright climbing into Dean's lap. The hunter wondered if he, too, needed some comfort just as badly as he himself did.

Chris's fingers stroked Dean's bare thigh slowly, leisurely. The gentle touch sent chills right up his leg and into his groin, and he opened his mouth, biting at Chris's neck just a little sharply. But to make it better he run his tongue over it afterward, shifting on the bed.

The response was priceless—Chris _moaned_.

Dean didn't know why this mattered to him, or why he liked hearing that sound so much. But he did, and he wanted to hear it again. So, he bit Chris's neck once more, which earned yet another moan. It was low, rough, and unlike any he had ever heard before—except for maybe what had come out of him in the past.

His hand released the other's arm and he soon leaned in, resting it on the mattress beside the witch's hip.

The more they did this, the more Dean realized that he was caring less and less that Chris was a guy. And it worried him a little, not knowing if that was a part of the hex on them or if it was the slipping of his own standards. He'd never had a _problem_ with guys liking other guys...but he'd just never imagined that he could ever participate in it.

Chris tilted his head to the side, gripping Dean's thigh somewhat tighter. He moved his hand further upward then, and Dean knew what was coming. Still, it was impossible to brace himself for the feeling of the other's hand on his bulge. He swallowed, closing his eyes, and then moved to take hold of Chris's wrist, preventing him from pulling his hand back. The grip wasn't strong, and was more intended to let the witch know what it was Dean wanted.

He lifted himself a little and scooted closer, to where very little space remained between them. Then he continued on what he'd been doing, latching his mouth halfway down the side of Chris's neck. For a few moments the hand on his groin lay still, but the more attention Dean paid to the other's neck, the more the hand began to move. He felt them prodding, rubbing, stroking—all of which sent pleasurable little waves throughout Dean's body.

He let out a shivering sigh.

"God," Chris murmured, almost breathless.

Dean found it hard to focus now. This was farther than they had ever dared to go before—_much_ farther. Dean's fingers sort of massaged Chris's wrist as the other stroked him, his breath hitching in his throat.

It was all he could do to keep from throwing Chris back against the bed…

Instead, he moved more with stealth, pressing forward against the younger one in order to get him to lie back as if of his own accord. And as he did just that—giving off a quiet grunt in the process—Dean let go of his wrist, his hand moving to the other's jean clad thigh. His strong fingers squeezed just a little, thumb running up the crease where leg met hip. He wasn't going directly for the prize, but eventually he'd work his way there.

Dean and Chris soon nudged noses, and then shared another kiss. Without breaking their lips apart, Dean started shifting in earnest, keeping Chris on the bed with a hand planted firmly against his chest. Deepening the kiss, he slid his hand back down to the waist of Chris's jeans, making quick work of the button and then catching the zipper to tug it down. One knee slid gently up between the witch's legs, and eventually he moved his mouth to Chris's chin, nipping it. Chris lifted his head as if to give permission, but the other's suddenly firm grip on his arousal made him grunt against the pale skin, stopping for a moment.

His fingers soon slipped inside Chris's pants to find the other's hard-on.

It was both surprising and unsurprising to find what he did there. He had been anticipating another dick, but nonetheless, that wasn't what he was used to encountering. It felt weird, but also strangely indecent, almost like he was doing something he shouldn't have.

Dean's fingers wrapped around Chris's erection. He stroked upward as much as the tight fabric allowed, but he found it to be too constricting, and a little obnoxious.

A sudden crashing sound filled his ears, which caused Dean to bolt upright and look over his shoulder. The movement reawakened the dull pain of his hangover headache, and he cursed quietly. It looked like one of the little chairs at the café table had flown across the room.

He glanced back at Chris, who had a disoriented, yet pleased look on his face.

"Sorry," he murmured.

Dean ignored it after that, although he felt intrigued. Sex with Chris was proving to be intriguing in more ways than one.

Rocking his hips downward, Dean pressed his cheek against the other's, giving his cock another gentle jerk.

"You've got too many clothes on for this to work…"

He rocked against him with more pressure than before, slipping his hand back out. A second later he was tugging on the waistband, grunting as he shifted again.

Dean's stomach gave a slight jerk as Chris swiftly tugged his hand away, using it to help pull down the waistband of both his jeans and his boxers. Two soft _plops_ followed—Chris's shoes—and soon the young one beneath him was wriggling his way out of his garments. That left him completely bare from the waist down.

"How about now?"

Dean looked down, swallowing hard when he saw Chris more or less in his full glory. It wasn't what he would have normally found arousing, that was for sure, but at the moment he almost couldn't pull his eyes away.

"That works," he said, his voice coming through like it was somewhat constricted in his throat. .

To make it fair, he reached down after a moment and hooked his thumb over the waist of his boxers, pushing them down and over his hips, and then shimmied out of them. They dropped to the floor beside Chris's pants, and Dean grinned lopsidedly, plucking at the other's shirt. He was feeling daring, as usual.

"How about this?"

Fair was fair.

"Well, that…"

Chris laughed. One moment, the shirt was there. The next, it turned into a flurry of white-blue orbs and slid right off of him and to the floor, rematerializing.

"That's fair."

Dean's eyes grew wider as he stared down at where the shirt had been. Something was screaming in the back of his head that that was _wrong_, and yet, he found it disturbingly easy to quell the voice. He had become much more relaxed about magical beings in the months following his father's death. He knew now that things weren't quite so black and white.

His thoughts were interrupted by Chris reaching up and trailing his fingertips over Dean's arm. He closed his eyes, feeling a shiver travel down his spine. The touch made his cock twitch as well, and he moved in closer, sliding it against Chris's warm hip. The younger one groaned faintly, moving his hand from Dean's arm to his hip, and then straight to his ass. Dean felt the sudden twitch and tap of Chris's own erection against his hip, which made him chuckle.

"God, that feels so weird…"

He dropped his head to lick at Chris's bare shoulder. The only time he'd _ever_ felt another cock besides his own had been when he was sixteen, and forced to share a bed with his brother. He had woken in the morning to feel Sam pressed against him with a rather perky addition as he slept.

Dean had punched him hard enough in the arm that Sam had sported a bruise for weeks.

Pushing himself up and over Chris, the older one continued to attack the joint of his shoulder and neck with his mouth, eventually lowering his hips to Chris's, causing their erections to slide together slowly. With a groan, he pressed harder, rocking himself a little to get more friction. It felt warm and he knew that one of them was leaking a little, because it wasn't quite as rough as it had been before.

Chris sounded almost a little overwhelmed when he murmured, "Dean, you're gonna make my whole damn neck red…"

"Maybe…"

One more rocking movement later, Chris gasped. For a second, Dean thought he might already be coming—the tightened grip on his ass made him pause, expecting it. But soon thereafter the witch was grinding against him, too, giving his own low grunt. Dean refrained from grinning too much at the feel of Chris playing with his butt. Girls always seemed to like it, and apparently, he could add boys, too.

The other's movements, now more noticeable, made him moan. Dean planted an elbow on the bed beside Chris's ear, lifting his top half in order to angle his bottom half better. All it took was a little sliding and his cock was resting in the slight dip of Chris's hip, next to the other's warm length. With a soft intake of air Dean thrust against the witch, shuddering a little at the bolt of pleasure that rush through him like a wave.

It had been far too long since he'd felt that.

Chris gave a noncoherent, breathless murmur, bucking and thrusting against Dean's body. The younger one turned his head to brush his nose against the inside of Dean's upper arm. It was cold against the hunter's flushed skin, but it felt nice. He, of course, was more focused on what was going on down below. He could tell it would be enough—the warmth and firmness of Chris's body beneath him, and the thrusting. It would get him there, and probably the other, too.

He moved his free hand to the witch's waist and pulled him towards himself, his own hips starting a rhythm that rocked them against each other just right. His eyes were closed, his head lowered a little, and his nose brushed against Chris's neck, breath panting over the other's reddened skin.

"This is…" he trailed off with a moan, fingers digging into the side of the younger one's back as he tried to make him arch up harder.

Chris gave no response. Or at least, no word related one. He arched up just as Dean wanted, and it took a few seconds, but he soon began thrusting several times in a row, and quickly. Dean expected him to be loud, or vocal; that was the kind of sex he was used to. But then again, this was unlike any previous sexual experience he'd ever had, so why should he expect it to be the same?

His own orgasm was building slowly in him, curling up his spine and making his breathing sort of ragged. Opening his mouth against the witch's neck, Dean sucked at the skin and held Chris to him tightly. He was at the perfect angle, his cock leaving a slick trail against the pale hip as he slid against it, trying to reach his climax. He felt it right there, right in the pit of his stomach.

The few short, quick thrusts of the one beneath him that followed made the hunter shudder, and he groaned and cursed breathlessly as he slipped over the edge.

"Son of a _bitch_…"

With a shuddering moan he came, face pressed against Chris's neck and fingers grasping hard and deep enough to leave lasting bruises on the other's waist and lower back. He felt Chris continue to thrust a few times more before the other's body gave off the telltale signs of reaching climax. The younger one's body arched, his voice raised, and, body tense, he released, grinding almost mindlessly between their bodies.

The hot, sticky mess was more than Dean was used to, but he was still in his post-orgasmic haze to really care much. He was trying to regain control of his breathing, while he felt Chris attempt to raise a hand to his own head. It didn't make it, instead limply falling against Dean's shoulder.

Dean, without much thought to it, fell to Chris's side, catching his arm beneath his neck so that his chin was level with the other's shoulder. He let out a breath, turning his head and looking at the younger one a moment before just closing his eyes and going a little limp.

They were a mess. Hopefully Sam wouldn't be back anytime soon.

After a minute or two, he finally murmured, "That's one way to cure a hangover…"

He shifted a little and tilted his head over the bulk of Chris's upper arm.

"Surefire way to fix it up," Chris replied. "I'm…" He paused for a while. Then, "Tired."

"Yeah…"

Dean, too, was a little tired. It would pass, though, if he got himself up and moving.

So that was what he did, pushing himself up and sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at the mess that was starting to drip down his abdomen.

It wasn't until he stood up and glanced at the bed that he realized exactly what he had just done. Chris was lying there, the same mess covering him, and Dean swallowed. They had just gone so off the map that he felt suddenly a little dizzy. He hid it well, looking away and staring at the wall as he curled his toes in the pile of clothing he was standing in.

Pretending things were normal, the older one headed towards the bathroom, flushing a little when he caught sight of himself in the full length dressing mirror mounted across the room from the bed on the wall. His nose and mouth were flushed, and he paused to stare. This wasn't unusual. What _was_ was the mess all over his lower stomach.

What was even more unusual was how he felt now. Confused? Angry? Sated? He didn't know. Maybe it was a mix of all of it. He had been the one who pulled Chris onto the bed..._he_ had given the first kiss. _He_ had pulled the other's and his own clothing off. Chris hadn't come here for that, but Dean had avoided every other topic.

He stared at himself in the mirror again like he was looking at a stranger, frowning. He could go on freaking out, or he could get the hell over it.

With that determination in mind, he grabbed a pale brown hand towel and ran hot water over it, then wrung it out in the sink. He used it to wipe himself clean, and then rinsed it and wrung it out again, carrying it back out into the main room. He really wouldn't have been surprised to not see Chris there any longer, but strangely enough, he was still on the bed.

Without saying anything, the older one walked closer and tossed the warm, damp towel onto Chris's stomach for him to use. Dean then snatched his boxers up, sliding them on, and went in search of his jeans. The hangover was now just a nagging little pain in the back of his head, and he was mostly able to ignore it. Even the headache.

Chris cleaned himself up and eventually got dressed, too. He stood around afterward, looking ill at ease. Dean didn't really know how to interpret it, or his silence.

"You okay?" he finally asked. He wasn't sure if he'd completely emotionally wrecked the other or not. Funny how he didn't worry about himself. "You know, it's not _that_ big of a deal," he added, feeling a little uncomfortable even as he said it. It was, kind of, and he cleared his throat, sipping at the coffee he had grabbed from the table while Chris got dressed.

He wrinkled his nose at the bitter taste, finally looking the other in the eyes. He had a hard time hiding his own disbelief for what had just happened, but he hoped it came across a little differently, and not quite as obvious.

Chris's response was almost immediate. "Huh? Oh, I'm fine." Despite everything, he smiled, snorting. "I'd say, though, that it's a big deal if it makes a mess like that."

Dean chuckled, nostalgia briefly taking him over. "That? Oh, that wasn't a mess." He didn't elaborate, instead shaking his head to bring himself back to the present. He eyed Chris again. "Anyway…that…wasn't why you came here." Although Dean had to admit, with the sexual tension out of the way, he felt much more focused on the task at hand. "Did you have anything to go on? I mean…have you dealt with hexes like this before?"

He couldn't recall if Chris had or not. He hadn't, personally. Witches and ghosts and curses, sure, but a hex was different.

"I've dealt with hexes on others before," Chris said after a moment's pause. "But nothing on myself. It's a little weird to think about. We've never run into a trickster before. All the hexes I've dealt with have been reversed through either a cleansing spell—that needs the power of three, and God, _that_ isn't going to happen—or by killing the creature who caused it."

Dean wrinkled his nose again, because both options seemed unusable. "Well, we killed a trickster before, we thought, only we _didn't_, and the damn thing targeted us later. I'd rather not make that mistake again." Looking down, he chewed on his bottom lip. "Tricksters, they like jokes. Usually the punch line is the poetic death of their victim. I hope this doesn't end in death."

Dean frowned in disgust. He had had enough death threats lately.

"I don't know how it could end in death," Chris said disbelievingly. "Whatever the case...we'll have to try and get it ourselves. I can't ask Wyatt and Melinda to cure a hex on me. They'll ask way too many questions, and…"

Chris shifted. He was obviously uncomfortable with the thought of his siblings finding out what had happened. They had discussed it before, so Dean understood.

He laughed. "Yeah, I'm with you on that one. Sam does _not_ need to know I dry-humped a witch on the bed he sleeps on." Running his tongue along his bottom lip, Dean reached up and slid his hand over his mouth.

It was obvious that whatever placed the hex on them had thought it would take a lot more for them to give in. Maybe it thought they'd commit suicide rather than give into the lust. But in the end it had taken little to nothing to get them naked and horizontal. Was that human nature? Or was it just them?

Still thinking about his dwindling lifetime, Dean found himself seriously beginning to wonder if this whole hex thing wasn't as bad as it seemed. He sighed and looked at Chris, letting his eyes linger for a while.

"You know…it's not so bad, when you're not being irritating," he teased lightly, smirking some.

Deep down, Dean was a really nice guy. But being a hunter, he had to bury that under a layer of harshness and cynicism so thick it was hard for him to access that niceness sometimes. It wasn't like he got a chance to interact with anyone truthfully and often enough to have any sort of normal concept of human relationships. The one time he'd gotten close enough with a woman to tell her the truth, she'd flipped out on him and ended it. They were okay now, but they'd never have any sort of functional relationship again.

Chris didn't seem as offended as he normally did. He even reached out and nudged Dean with his foot, somewhat firmly. Was that his way of communicating his distaste with the comment? It was kind of cute.

And then he smirked. "Could easily say the same. Not as bad as I thought it was gonna be."

Dean shifted and laughed. He shrugged. "Me? _I'm_ not irritating. I'm adorable." He half expected a slug in the arm for that comment, and he glanced at Chris, almost grinning. "Even _you_ couldn't resist me."

Chris chuckled. "I don't think I've ever met anyone with an ego as…healthy, as yours. You're still irritating, though. If you weren't, I don't think we'd have gotten where we were."

Dean snorted and looked down, because he knew Sam would have agreed with Chris one hundred percent. But Dean was his older brother; of course he would irritate Sam.

But that had little to do with the two of them sitting on the bed.

Had Dean known that Chris was feeling at all thankful for what was happening to them, he might have been a little shocked and concerned. Although, he wasn't exactly feeling terribly regretful, himself.

"Anyway, adorableness aside…" He grinned, glancing at Chris. "I don't think the trickster cares about that. I think our _best_ bet would be to just...ask it to lift the hex." He lifted his eyebrows.

The other trickster had been…oddly amicable, had even tried to offer him a truce, though he hadn't taken it, and really should have.

"That would mean, of course, that we'd have to find it, and my bet is it's long gone by now."

Scrunching up his nose, the younger one shifted on the bed. He seemed like he wanted to counter what Dean said, but decided against it. "Maybe you're right. We could find it I bet. We'll just have to scry for it…like I said before."

"Yeah, that's more your department, I think."

Dean had nothing against scrying. Or rather, what he did have against it was very little, now that he knew how good it seemed to work. His own methods tended towards more outward signs, like news articles and crop circles and other "paranormal" activities. It wasn't that great for pinpointing an exact entity, but it tended to work well enough. Chris would likely have better luck, however.

"I can do that later tonight when I go home. I think Wyatt's going out with his friends, and Mel hates most things magical majority of the time, so only my mom and dad would go up into the attic...and I really doubt they will, since they have enough going on themselves." Chris sighed.

Dean could understand what Chris was going through. There had been a time when he felt irritated at Sam, who had decided to skip out and go to college and try to have a "normal" life, like Chris's siblings were doing. Dean…he just couldn't escape it. He was a total product of what his father had made him, and probably wouldn't even begin to be able to function in the way most other people did.

He sighed, too, but quickly recovered.

"So, is the attic where you do all your…witchy stuff?"

It sounded appropriate, and he tried to imagine what it would be like, since the rest of their house had been so, nice and un-witchy. Dean had worked a little magic before, on occasion, so he was familiar with a host of different ingredients, which he knew would probably surprise Chris if it ever came up. It wasn't that he _liked_ doing it, it was just... _necessary_ sometimes. He was sure the other understood. Obviously.

"Witchy stuff?"

"M'not sure what you'd call it. You know what I mean."

Chris sniggered. "I guess if you wanna call it that, then yes. But we can do it anywhere in the house. Hell, I've done it in my room." He smiled faintly. "I could show you next time, I guess."

"Yeah, you could. I wouldn't mind seeing it," Dean admitted.

Chris smirked. "Should we call that a date?"


	8. The Contract

**Author's Notes:** Believe it or not, this chapter was NOT as long as I thought it was going to be. But, I realized that by shortening the POVs from four to one, the length of the chapter would shrink considerably. I find it hard to go from POV to POV, so I figure that's the case with everyone. I fidgeted with this chapter throughout the week, so I'm hoping that you'll all enjoy it! This is a very pivotal chapter, too, and one that some of you have been waiting for. ;) I won't say any more than that.

_bamf2me_: Hahaha! (that was an evil laugh, just so you know...) I love converting people to new pairings, especially ones I'm fond of, like these boys! It sounds like you're really enjoying the story, and for that, I'm all sorts of glad. Thanks for your review. :D I think you'll find this chapter very much to your liking.

_Blueeyesbetter:_ Wonder what you'll think of this chapter! ;)

_Zane_: Isn't it? You're the only one who knows what's to come, so you'll probably find it interesting. The next chapter is...oh, man. It's the late night scene. That's all I can say! 3

_Destatikai: _Well, that makes me a happy camper! I haven't written smutty/lemony things in a story for...gosh, ages. And these two will have more to come, but I try to make it not quite as distasteful as some of them out there. I'm glad you were able to read the last one! And I agree _entirely_. Dean really was the driving force in that last chapter. I just wanted to give everyone a chance to see it from both sides. Dean and Chris are much more similar than they realize, and I hope that it shows when I do the POV switches. :)

_GayRon_: Glad to hear you loved it! There's more to come, so keep around :D

Without further ado, chapter eight!

* * *

Chris sat on his bed in his room, reading a book about hexes with unwavering fervency. He had been researching for hours, having not yet taken a break because of the rare fact that he had _privacy_. Such a thing didn't really exist in the Halliwell household, and when one got it, one often clutched onto it with the Jaws of Life.

But that privacy, which had begun that afternoon, soon dwindled away. Chris had paid no heed to night falling, only realizing it when Wyatt wandered into their shared bedroom, moving toward his bed to kick off his shoes. He had a bag of Lay's potato chips in tow.

Rubbing his eyes, the young witch asked, "When did you get home?"

The look Wyatt gave him seemed distant. It took him a moment before he responded, "Just got home. Why?" Here he shifted on his bed, and Chris noticed him staring at the book sprawled across his lap. Wyatt sat up and blinked. "What're _you_ studying so hard?"

Chris shifted on his bed, closing the book in his lap and setting it to his right. "Just brushing up on some stuff," he said with a shrug and a dismissive look on his face. "I've been kind of lax lately keeping up on new spells and hexes out there, and I want to make sure that if we come across anyone who tries to use them, we'll be prepared."

He turned his attention to Wyatt then, noting the somewhat heavy appearance to his brother's distracted stare. "What's wrong?"

Wyatt huffed quietly. He nibbled on a few chips before deciding to answer. "I just got back from talking to Sam. He asked me if I knew any way to break a contract with a demon." He wrinkled up his nose.

Was that all?

"Aunt Paige has done that, sort of," Chris replied thoughtfully. He remembered reading as a child about how she had given up her soul in exchange for an innocent's, then had managed to both kill the demon and nullify the contract with the help of their mother and Aunt Phoebe. "Why does he need to break a contract?"

That didn't seem like something Sam would worry about. But Chris didn't know Sam like Wyatt did…just like Wyatt didn't know Dean like Chris did.

"She didn't exactly _break_ that contract…she made a _new_ one for _her_ soul. She would have had to honor it if Mom and Aunt Phoebe hadn't helped her kill that demon." Turning to Chris again, Wyatt ran his tongue over his lips, licking off the salt from the chips. "And…Sam needs it for Dean, apparently. He said part of the deal was that Dean couldn't actually _do_ anything for _himself_. If Dean tries to break his contract, then Sam dies, so…"

Wyatt shook his head and shoved another chip into his mouth, crunching it and knitting his eyebrows like it was a riddle he was trying to solve in the Sunday paper.

There were so many loaded words in that sentence that Chris didn't know how to take it all in. At first he appeared confused, but shortly after that he shifted to surprise.

"Wait," he said slowly, intonation flat. "Why does he need to break a contract."

_This…no_, Chris thought.

No, it couldn't be what he was thinking. And if it was, so help him...

Wyatt sighed. "Sam said that a while back—almost a year ago, I think it was—some really bad stuff happened. You remember a year ago, when things started going a little crazy?" There had been a spike in demonic activity at that time that even the Halliwells had been hard pressed to put down. "Well…Sam and Dean were smack dab in the middle of that and Sam…well…died, I guess. Apparently Dean went and sold his soul to bring him back." While Wyatt spoke he spread his hands in a helpless gesture, disbelief on his face. "Instead of giving him the normal ten years this demon apparently gives, she only gave him one, and it's coming due pretty damn soon, according to Sam. He's desperate to find a way to get Dean out of it. Thought we might help."

Hearing what Wyatt said was almost as if a bomb had gone off inside Chris. He was seeing red in his mind, among many other things. He stayed quiet for what felt like ever, but when he finally spoke, it was with an incredulous tone that rang with near betrayal.

"You mean he offered up his soul for his brother and now Sam's trying to find a way to get it _back_?"

But Chris didn't wait for Wyatt to respond. He ignored the irritated expression on his brother's face. "I'm going to find out more about this _myself._" In just a moment's time he orbed up and out of their bedroom and straight to the hotel room Dean and Sam called home.

The dark haired witch wasn't sure what he was feeling then; maybe frustration, maybe fury, or maybe he just felt full on homicidal. Dean hadn't told him about _any_ of this, and while he really couldn't expect him to, after that moment they had had talking about their brothers and what they did for their family all that time ago…how he could go and do something so stupid was beyond Chris.

Upon his arrival he noted that Sam and Dean were sitting at the small kitchenette table, burgers and fries sprawled out over the surface. The younger hunter wore a look of pleasant surprise, and in a friendly voice he said, "Chris! Hey!"

Chris, staring so viciously at Dean he practically seethed, didn't respond. Sam shied away.

Dean shot Sam a brief glance before settling his eyes on Chris. He put on a slight smile, clearing his throat. "Hey…we were just getting ready to eat. You want a beer?"

Why Chris felt so enraged, he wasn't quite sure. But his mind was on autopilot now, and what happened felt almost like a blur.

He snapped, "I don't _drink_."

He wanted to spring forward and start shaking Dean—shake him until he admitted that what he had done was painfully stupid and completely moronic. Of course, because of this anger, he soon found himself with that feeling of arousal squirming around inside of him. Through some miracle he managed to suppress it. It only increased his exasperation.

"Guess it doesn't matter how much _you_ drink, though," he remarked, snide.

Confusion struck Dean's features. He looked to Sam once more before swallowing and shrugging weakly. "Chill out, it's just a couple of beers…" he murmured, a wry smile working its way onto his face. To prove his point he took a sip from his bottle, then tilted the head toward Chris.

That seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back. "Chill out? Chill _out_?" Chris threw his hands at his sides, tone incredulous. "I'll _chill out_ when I find out why the _hell_ you even thought it was smart to make a deal with a _demon_!"

Dean, who at the beginning of the onslaught had backed up a little in his chair and widened his eyes, soon took on a somber look, sending a disappointed frown at his brother. He turned to Chris. "I'm not pretending it was _smart_," he defended himself. He worked his jaw a little, as if he were trying not to start yelling. "It was _necessary_."

Chris failed to see the incredibly shameful look on Sam's face, so focused as he was on Dean. He was also so heavily into his yelling that he missed the swirling collection of orbs that formed into Wyatt nearby. "I don't even know what the hell you were _thinking_! For someone who's apparently as savvy in the supernatural as you, you'd think you'd be able to figure out how to get things without giving up your own soul in the process!"

Dean launched himself up from his chair and moved toward Chris, his breath growing shallow and his face flushed. He glared at the younger one. "It's _my_ soul. I can do what I _want_ with it," he sneered. "What's it to _you_, anyway? Now you don't have to worry about some freakin' hex. Like I said: just let it _go_, and it'll fix _itself_, soon enough."

"Maybe because I don't _want_ you to die!"

Chris's enraged outburst was so sudden that he didn't even realize it was out until after he had said it. He covered his mouth immediately afterward, both appearing and feeling disgustingly horrified with himself.

His shouting hushed Dean, who remained silent for a while, just like Sam and Wyatt. These two each showed their discomfort and uncertainty in their own unique way, with Sam's lips pursed tightly and Wyatt's eyebrows knitted together.

"I don't want to die, either," Dean murmured after a moment, frowning and staring at Chris. "But I couldn't let Sammy die, either." His eyes remained locked on the one across from him.

When it came down to it, Chris could understand. He would risk his own life if it meant saving his brother or his sister. He was a hypocrite that way. And, he knew that he had no grounds whatsoever to tell Dean what to do and what not to do with his soul. But the angered lust building up inside of him told him otherwise, as irrational and confusing as it was.

It was just him and Dean right then and there. His eyes were locked on the other's.

"We'll get you out of it," he said, a very sound sense of determination in his voice. "I swear to God."

"I _can't_ back out of it, Chris. If I even try, then Sam dies. I'm _sorry_." Dean sighed, shoulders slumping. He continued staring at the witch, his expression a mix of quite a few emotions, but regret remained the most prevalent.

While the majority of the feelings welling up inside of Chris at that moment were due to the hex, there were still things mulling about within that weren't, and he knew that they had influenced his outburst. He and Dean had bonded in a very odd way, both physically and emotionally, and maybe he had taken it to mean more than Dean had.

All he knew was that the apology carried a lot, and he _felt_ it.

"You don't know what I'm capable of," Chris said, his voice quiet.

He was the son of a Charmed One. He was a powerful witch in his own, and with his siblings, he was one of the strongest forces of good on the planet. He would be damned if he couldn't break a contract with a demon _somehow_. He abruptly looked down, rubbing his eyes. He wasn't crying, but his eyes felt like they stung a little, and the pressure against them helped to alleviate it.

For a moment everything remained uncomfortably tense. Sam and Wyatt watched, curiosity gripping them, while Dean stood there awkwardly. Finally he couldn't seem to help himself. Tilting his head, he shifted, then reached out to grab a fistful of Chris's shirt, near at his shoulder. He used that to pull the witch closer, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. He leaned his own head down beside the darker one.

It was the sort of hug Dean gave Sam sometimes, when he didn't know what else to do or say, although Chris didn't know that. All he knew was that it was comforting.

Wyatt cleared his throat and took a hesitant step forward when Dean took Chris into the hug. He looked uncomfortable, and he half-lifted up the book Chris had been reading before he dropped it helplessly to his thigh.

Sam verbalized their confusion. He, too, cleared his throat, but louder than Wyatt had. "Hey, guys, what's…going on?"

His words shattered the tender moment. Chris had just given the older hunter a small, relieved smile, but after Sam's words he turned his attention toward him, the smile fading as he finally realized that his brother was there now, too.

"What?" he asked, ignoring the way his heart fell into the pit of his stomach. It didn't help any that Dean pulled away from him then, leaving him feeling strangely unsupported.

Stepping closer, Wyatt once again lifted the book he had in his hand. "I think I know what happened." He eyed Chris. "They've been hexed, from what I was able to get out of Chris's sudden crash course in this book. It's some kind of strange love hex." He frowned, brimming with discomfort that the younger witch could feel.

That didn't do anything to ease Chris's own discomfort, however. For some reason this felt to him almost like he was stuck in the middle…like had to choose between Dean and Wyatt, with his brother being so close and Dean remaining not too far away, either.

"That's what's going on," he finally said, pointing to Wyatt while looking at Sam, who appeared pensive.

"Wait," Sam began, reaching up to the side of his head. "Did this—this happened when we saved that kid, didn't it? I remember you two acting weird afterward…"

"We didn't know what happened," Dean broke in. "It was when Chris came after me. When we got knocked over, it just…" He moved away from Chris then, although he first hesitated in doing so. "It's just a hex, Sammy. Nothing's wrong with me, okay?" He took his brother by the back of the neck and stared at him hard in the eyes. "We were gonna fix it. I didn't want you to worry about me."

Chris watched as Dean and Sam stared so intently at one another. There was something in Sam's eyes, something that made the young witch uncertain and almost ill at ease. Sam soon pulled back from Dean and reached up, rubbing his hands over his own face.

"You should know by now that it's my right to do whatever I want," he murmured quietly. "And that includes worrying about you."

This whole situation was becoming way too much, Chris thought. That everyone knew what was going on made him feel anxious. Plus, Wyatt's obvious attempt to protect him from Dean bristled his feathers more than he thought it would. Despite the appreciation he had for his brother's concern, he felt it unnecessary.

"I was gonna scry," he told Wyatt. "I was gonna try and take care of it."

Before Wyatt had a chance to respond, Dean grumbled out, "Damn it, Sam. This is friggin' stupid. You _know_ this deal can't be broken without you _dying_, and I'm not gonna let that happen. And now I have to deal with this _hex_, and all I wanted to do was take care of it without _you_ getting all worked up over it!"

The older hunter threw his hands up in an 'I give up' sort of motion, turning away from Sam and starting toward Chris. But Wyatt stood in the way now, and so he let out a frustrated sound, took hold of his chair and thrust it with a clatter back under the table.

"We'll figure it out!" Chris shouted out of the blue. Though what he was referring to, even he didn't know. It might have been the hex, it might have been the contract, or it might have been both. He wasn't willing to get up in arms about it, not now that things had come to a head like they did. It would be pointless.

Looking almost angry at all of them, the dark haired witch stepped away from his brother, Dean and Sam and moved toward the nearest empty space, which happened to be the bed. He felt trapped, almost, and so he took a seat on it, trying to relax.

"We'll figure it out," he repeated, his voice much quieter this time.

Sam broke the following silence by murmuring, "We need all the help we can get, Dean, whether you like it or not."

Dean lifted his hand and pushed his fingers against his eyelids, rubbing them. "Yeah, Sammy…I know that. I just…I can't be a part of this. I can't risk it." He stared at Sam with a pained expression. He made a tentative move toward Chris, watching Wyatt from the corner of his eye. When the blond didn't stop him, he took a seat on the bed, just a bit away from the younger witch.

"Chris is right," Wyatt said with a sigh. He kept his eyes on Dean as he spoke. "We'll figure something out. Right now, the contract is more pressing. Let's focus on that first."

"I'm not losing you," Sam announced, staring at his brother. "You know that."

Dean sounded drained as he replied, "I know, Sammy."

Chris ran a hand through his hair. "There's too much at stake, here. We'll have to be real careful. You'll have to tell us everything you both know." He glanced at Wyatt. "Or Wyatt can tell me, I guess, since you already told him, Sam. Maybe we should just get home so we can get on this." Here he looked at Dean, wanting to reach out and touch him. But he couldn't tell if that was the hex, or if it was something else.

Dean looked at him. While it was true that Sam had dibs on the lost puppy dog eyes, the older hunter took the cake on intense stares of repressed longing. For a moment they were both still, but then Dean's hand slid across the comforter toward the witch's, and he laced their fingers together in a loose embrace. He smiled just slightly at it, but it disappeared quickly thereafter.

"Yeah, let's get home, Chris," Wyatt agreed, sharing a brief, but telling, glance with Sam before moving toward the two on the bed.

Chris tried his hardest not to give a pathetic laugh. He felt that way, like star crossed lovers or something, what with the way that Sam was looking at him and the way Wyatt was inching his way in to separate the two of them. It was the attitude of their brothers that made Chris grip Dean's hand tighter. It was his way of saying 'fuck it' to both of their siblings, neither of whom seemed to really understand what was going on with them.

But now he was regretting saying that they needed to go home. Touching Dean had now made it a bad decision, and a hard one to enforce.

"We'll do everything from our end, here," Sam said, moving over toward the bed and clasping Dean's shoulder with his hand. "Just let us know if you come up with anything."

Moving to closer to the bed, Wyatt leaned across it and took hold of Chris's elbow, the one that wasn't connected to the hand holding the hunter's. He tugged it back a little. "Come on, Chris, let's go, huh? We need to look into this and see if there's anything we can do."

Honestly, at that moment, Chris thought his brother was more concerned with getting him and Dean apart than trying to save the older hunter. That soured him a little, but he went with it. What else could he do? It would start a fight. He didn't need that right now. He was just too tired.

"Keep us updated," Sam said, giving Wyatt a nod.

Dean seemed reluctant to release Chris's hand, but the insistent, gentle tugging of Wyatt eventually forced him to. Dean and Chris shared one more look before everything went somewhat fuzzy. The next thing Chris saw was the surroundings of his and Wyatt's bedroom.

When he saw the way Wyatt was eying him, he felt like screaming, "I'm not going anywhere!" but decided against it. He had no intent to orb back to the hotel—not with Sam around. He could tell the younger hunter was irritated and concerned about what had happened with his brother, and Chris's presence was probably unwelcome.

"All right, Chris," Wyatt sighed. "This…has got to be the most fucked up thing ever." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Chris, too, folded his arms over his chest. "It's a Trickster. Dean told me. I don't know why it's not in the _Book of Shadows_. Mom and them must have never come across one...or anyone else in our family."

"Trickster?" Wyatt took a seat on the edge of his bed. Something in his tone led Chris to believe that he must have not liked the idea of Dean knowing something he didn't. It felt weird, but Chris found amusement in that thought. He respected Wyatt's knowledge of all things magical. Sometimes, though, his brother could be a real show off. Being humbled would do him some good.

Wyatt continued in a mutter, rubbing his fingers over his forehead, "Yeah…well, that complicates things a little, huh?"

"There's probably something about them in the books at Magic School. That's where I got those…." Chris pointed to the books resting beside his bed. With an exhausted wave of his hand he used his power to organize them, floating them over toward their desk and into a neat pile.

About this time he looked back at Wyatt, not really knowing what he would say next. He was expecting his brother to freak out on him, but he didn't know why.

"Well. That's where we go, then, as soon as we figure out what to do about this Trickster problem. Until then, we shouldn't worry about the hex, huh? We should focus on the contract." Wyatt paused and looked at Chris after speaking, as if trying to gauge his reaction. There was worry glinting in his eyes, and it made the younger witch a little annoyed.

"We'll find stuff at magic school for that, too, I bet," Chris said, sounding a little distant. He avoided Wyatt's gaze afterward, not wanting to see any more of that concern.

He didn't like this concept of Dean having traded his soul for Sam's. It hurt him in ways that it shouldn't have, which set off many alarms in Chris's head. He hadn't ever felt this way before; it was unchartered territory for him. He had Wyatt to help him now, but something told him that his brother wouldn't be there one hundred percent.

Wyatt pressed his lips together and let a breath out his nose, continuing to watch Chris. Chris felt stupid, knowing that his avoiding his gaze was a dead ringer that there was more to this than he was letting on. When mad, Chris usually did a lot of glaring, particularly right at Wyatt—right into his eyes. It was too late to recover, and surely by now Wyatt had deduced that there was more to this than just the hex.

He tried to recover nonetheless. "I…" Chris paused. He failed, and miraculously. "I think we should check it out in a little bit. Mostly because...I don't really know what to think right now."

"Well, Chris…" Wyatt started, knitting his eyebrows and shifting a little on the bed. Chris could tell he wanted to push the envelope further. What Wyatt said next reminded him as to why he confided these types of things to his brother. "If you wanna?"

"I do," he agreed with a slow nod. He moved onto his bed after a moment's time, feeling that anxious sensation coursing through him still. The sooner they figured this out, the better. Right now, however, he just wasn't sure he could give it his all after what he knew, and after what had just happened.

"We'll go first thing tomorrow, okay?" Wyatt suggested. "You don't have classes, and I don't really want to go to mine, anyway." He smiled encouragingly. "We'll look up stuff on the demon _and_ on the hex. Kill two birds with one stone so we don't have to make another trip."

Chris didn't give Wyatt a lot of credit when it was really due; he was a great older brother majority of the time, and put up with a lot of Chris's shit. This was just more of that, and again he was dealing with it. He was truly lucky to have someone like Wyatt on his side. He smiled back, easy going and thankful.

"Yeah, we can do that, then. Sounds good."

*

Once Sam was sure that both Chris and Wyatt were gone, he finally let go of Dean's shoulder and moved back just enough to stare at him. He said nothing, eying his brother with heavy scrutiny. Was there more to this than just the hex itself? He hoped to God there wasn't.

What scared him was that he couldn't actually _tell_ now.

Dean didn't appreciate the near scowl, which he sent back at Sam with a sharp, "_What_?" He stood up abruptly and headed back to the table, picking up his burger and taking an aggressive bite.

_Don't try acting like you didn't just hold some guy's—some witch guy's—hand!_ Sam thought in a burst of sudden frustration. Instead of voicing it, however, he rubbed his eyes, inquiring, "It _is_ just the hex, right?"

He had to make sure. He couldn't deal with not knowing if there was more to it than that, especially since he figured that was the one sure thing he knew about Dean: it was pretty obvious, or so he hoped, that his brother was straight. But this had the potential to throw that all out the window.

Dean made a face after swallowing the bite in his mouth. "You think it's something _else_?"

Sam didn't catch the flush in his brother's cheeks, only him taking another bite of his burger.

"I don't know what to think, Dean," he said seriously. "I'd like to think it's just the hex, but why in the hell did you grab his hand?" _So much for that staying in._ "That's not something you'd do. I don't—" Sam stammered to a stop, wanting to says several things about which he quickly changed his mind. He settled on, "I just...don't know."

The older hunter all but threw his mutilated hamburger back onto the wrapper on the table, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He glared. "It's like I can't keep my hands to myself, Sam. It's not _me_, okay?" he grumbled, in an obvious attempt to sound believable.

But Dean could never lie to Sam, and Sam didn't appreciate the attempt to do so. He watched his brother pace from the table to the bed, and then back again, picking up his beer. "It's the hex, Sam…it's just the hex. I'm not into dick, all right?"

"Tricksters don't usually cause people to randomly grab other peoples' hands in times of crisis." But Sam held his hands up defensively in the universal gesture of defeat, so that Dean knew he wasn't going to argue it further. "But, fine. You say you aren't, I'll believe you." But could he?

Dean narrowed his eyes and huffed. "Look, just…it's not like I _want_ to be all over this guy, Sam. He's irritating as fuck, and he can get so damn…pompous, like he's better just because he's a witch, or something." He ran a hand over his face and twitched just slightly, as if he had experienced a shiver running up his spine. "Jesus."

By now, Sam had taken full inventory in the different way Dean not only looked, but also acted. It scared him that Chris and this hex had such a powerful grasp on his brother.

Discomfort etched onto his face. Sam said, "Let's just stop talking about him." His tone implied that they needed to just drop it. He didn't want to talk about Chris any more, or think about either of the witches, even despite Wyatt's agreement to help. He was growing uncomfortable, and he didn't know what they were going to do now that things were so mixed up.

_Maybe I shouldn't have gone to them for help_, he thought.

But he was just so desperate.…

Somewhat to his surprise, Dean agreed. "Yeah. I think that'd be a good idea." He plucked at his shirt, looking awkward. Had Sam known he was thinking about what he and Chris had done just a few days previous, he would have blown a gasket.

As it was, he was content to let the situation float away. There were times when he needed to talk about things right when they happened—it was what angered Dean so badly sometimes—but now, Sam was definitely taking the other's approach by sitting back and pretending it didn't exist, at least for now.

Sam reached down toward the table and grabbed his burger, a little irritated that it had become kind of soggy and cold. He still took a large bite out of it, though, and taking it along with him, he headed back over to the bed and grabbed his laptop from atop the nightstand. He was going to surf the web.


	9. The Impala

**Author's Notes: **Hi all! Sorry this is so late; I meant to post it before I went to work but I completely forgot like a dummy. But, better late than never, right? I've also been working on the story and am on chapter 11 now. Things are getting heated! Mwaha! Since classes started up last week I've been sort of lax on writing, as I'm trying to get into a flow again. Shouldn't be too much of an issue since I only update once a week and can manage that!

Hope this chapter is as enjoyable as the last. It certainly was amusing to me, especially reliving it. I love Dean, and I love Chris, and I love...well. I love everything about this chapter. Hahaha! Please let me know what you think!

_Destatikai: _These two will never have it easy. I'll just put it that way. Where's the fun in that? ;D And you're very right, Sam does. It's about to get worse...*cackles*

_Zane_: Like I was telling you the last time we talked, it's proving to be a real nightmare to make it all work out. I'm glad it's all fresh in your mind. I'm trying not to change TOO much, but I want it to be also a little different so you have some stuff to look forward to, too. ^^

_Blueeyesbetter: _It's about to get much more embarrassing in this chapter, so just wait and see. ;) Haha!

* * *

The rest of Dean's evening had been, at best, horrifically uncomfortable. He sat around the hotel room with Sam, who was pointedly ignoring him in every way possible. Sam was also keeping a clear eye on him; he probably expected him to try and leave so he could go see Chris. Though the idea was tempting, Dean didn't want to incur his brother's wrath and start a fight. He was just too tired.

So, while Sam screwed around on his laptop, Dean flipped through the channels on the TV for what felt like hours before finally falling asleep on his side of the large bed, boots and all.

But his sleep was somewhat fitful. Dean eventually woke up, shifting slightly in the now dark, still room. Beside him was the familiar weight and warmth of his brother, and Dean lay there for silently for a few minutes, listening to Sam breathe. Only when he was convinced that the other was in a deep, dreamless state did Dean dare to sit up, slipping nimbly from the bed. He was still fully clothed, so all he had to do was grab the keys off the counter before he left, shutting the door softly behind him.

Once in the car, Dean let out an almost shaky breath, not taking the time to actually consider what he was doing. He just had to…he couldn't stop himself.

Driving into the older, residential part of town, he tapped his fingers rapidly on the wheel, nervously leaning forward and looking at the houses, searching for Chris's. He didn't really know what he would do when he found it. He was hoping it would come to him before he got there.

It had taken seemingly forever to find the familiar street. Dean felt like some sort of freak stalker as he slowed down, catching sight of Chris's house. At first, he didn't know whether to stop or to just keep driving. Chris shared a room with Wyatt, so it wasn't like he could sneak in and wake just Chris up. And breaking in? Not an option. Not in a house full of witches with magical powers.

As it was, he merely braked, coming to a stop at the curb outside of the Victorian manor, where he killed the engine. He sat there a second, then got out, looking up at the darkened windows with a frown. It was cool outside, and he could see his breath as he exhaled. He shoved his hands in his pockets, watching the quiet house. He failed to see Chris staring at him through the living room window, and was more than surprised when the witch popped out of the front door, a white bag of trash in his hand. In that brief moment when the door had opened and before he had seen it was Chris, Dean freaked, a sudden vision of the witch's father coming out and chasing him with a shotgun filling his head.

It had happened to him before….

Bag of trash in hand, Chris headed down the steps toward the curb, where he stopped to look at Dean. It took him a moment to seemingly remember he had the bag in his hand, which he quickly tossed in the dumpster.

He turned back to look at Dean, confused. "What're you doing here?" he asked. His voice held an anticipatory tone to it, as if he were almost expecting a certain answer.

Dean thought that maybe he was. "I couldn't sleep," he admitted, keeping his voice low. "I had to see you."

His heart gave a pleasant little flutter that he couldn't pretend was anything but excitement. Having Chris so close with no interference from either of their brothers made him strangely happy. And, while he knew they were in way too deep for this to be anywhere near normal, Dean was buzzing too hard off of these feelings to pay heed to the fool he was making of himself. It was like he was sixteen again, head over heels, and too sure of it to see the mistakes he was making.

"I was thinking about orbing to you," Chris said with a breathy laugh, shrugging his shoulders to get a bit of warmth. Dean noticed he was only wearing a pair of pants and a t-shirt.

"It's good you didn't. You might have woken Sam up." Dean, close to his car as he was, leaned back against it.

Chris seemed to search for words. He scratched the back of his head. "I didn't...I don't know what's going on. It's hard to explain. It just feels like—"

"I'm not asking you to explain." Dean let out a long, steam filled breath. Pushing away from the car against which he had just leaned, he reached for Chris, taking hold of his upper arm. "Can you just…come with me for a while?" he asked, glancing temporarily back to the impala. It would be warmer in the car, and more private.

Chris nodded, stammering slightly as he said, "Yeah…yeah, sure." He moved toward the impala, climbing inside as Dean went around and slipped into the driver's seat.

The interior was certainly better. Dean was thankful for the warmth, even after only having been out of it for a short period of time. When he started the car he turned up the heater, not bothering to snap on his seatbelt as he pulled away from the curb. He had no idea where he was taking them. He just knew he wanted to get somewhere where he could be alone with Chris. He didn't reach for him right away, focusing more on the fact that he had the witch all to himself…that somehow this had worked out strangely well.

Now what was he going to do?

Dean and Chris drove in silence for some time, each sending the occasional furtive glance at the other.

Eventually Chris asked, "What time is it?"

The sudden question startled Dean somewhat. "I…dunno, actually." He pulled back his sleeve to look at his watch. "It's about half after two." He glanced momentarily at Chris, turning his focus back to the road to pull down a darker street that lacked streetlights.

"I don't know where I'm going," Dean confessed with a chuckle. "I just wanted to see you. We can stop somewhere if you want…or I can just keep driving. Whatever." He pressed his lips together to keep from babbling on like a fool.

Without so much as another word, he reached across the wide front seat and slid his hand over the Chris's shoulder, his thumb sliding up the back of his neck. His fingers curled gently around the other side. Chris smiled at him, which warmed the pit of Dean's stomach.

"We can just stay in here. It's warm, and most places right now are probably full of people we don't want to see." Chris reached across the way, hesitating only slightly, and laid his hand on the lower part of Dean's thigh, his grip gentle. The touch was distracting to Dean, however, and made him feel strangely antsy as he cruised through a series of random turns toward a more desolate area, which he figured to be some sort of common park for the neighborhood. His theory was confirmed when the headlights slid over a lonely picnic table.

Dean cut the steering wheel sharply to the right, barely making the turn into the narrow lane that ran right through the park area. He made his way down the tiny, tree-lined road, pulling the impala onto the gravel shoulder near another, more secluded picnic area.

Taking his hand off of Chris's neck, he threw the vehicle into park and killed the lights and engine, sinking them into near eerie darkness. He chanced a brief glance down at the hand on his thigh, which made him swallow. He wasted little time in sliding across the front seat to get closer to Chris.

"This good?" he asked as he slipped an arm around Chris to bring the witch closer.

Another smile graced Chris's features. In the dark it looked almost mischievous, which made Dean smirk.

"Yeah, this is good." Chris squeezed Dean's thigh again, his hand then moving further up.

The sensation that came from the hand reminded Dean that the hex was still there, underlying each and every one of their moves. But he shoved that, along with most of his doubts and concerns, into the back of his mind. This wasn't hurting anybody…and besides, it felt good. It had been a long while since he had felt this way about anyone, and it was sort of addictive, that giddy feeling that filled him whenever he got closer to the witch.

He ran his own hand down Chris's side and leaned his face in. He didn't go for a kiss right away, just bringing the other nearly into one, their noses almost touching. To his surprise Chris initiated their kiss, his soft lips brushing against Dean's. He felt the fingers grip his thigh somewhat tighter, and he gave a faint grunt, barely audible past the blood pumping through his ears. Dean shifted his hand and worked on getting it beneath the other's shirt, his rough fingertips dipping just barely into the waist of Chris's jeans.

The impala may have not been the most comfortable place for something like this, but Dean had made due more than once.

"Did you want to…" he murmured, breaking the kiss just barely.

"Yeah…" Chris murmured back against Dean's lips, giving him another kiss. He moved his hand further inward on the other's thigh, toward his groin.

Dean's hips almost bucked up on their own accord. He moaned into the kiss, cursing at the pleasing touch before giving Chris a fiercer kiss than before, biting at his bottom lip. He shifted in his seat and struggled to get his left leg out from under the steering wheel, all the while sliding his hand further into Chris's pants. But a moment later he grunted again, his knee having collided with the gearshift. That seemed to sober him up a little.

"Maybe the back seat?" he asked, pulling back slightly to look at the witch with a crooked smile. The backseat was roomier, despite the spilled box of bullets on the floorboards, among other things. Plus, there was no steering wheel or gearshift to get in the way.

Chris had a somewhat dazed expression on his face as he gave a simple nod of agreement. He unbuckled his seatbelt. Being thinner than Dean, he had less trouble twisting his body in such a way that allowed him to slide up and over the front seat, plopping into the back with a quiet, squishy _thud_. With a quiet laugh Dean followed suit, awkwardly stumbling into the back seat with one knee on it and one ankle still hooked over the back of the front seat. It probably wasn't nearly as sexy as he had hoped it to be, but that didn't matter.

Instead of worrying about how cool he looked, Dean just planted his hands on either side of the witch, and then went in for a hard and demanding kiss. Chris met it, his lips parting and one of his hands coming up to grip the front of Dean's shirt dangling between them. His other hand soon moved up to grip the older one's neck.

Things were starting to get serious again, and fast, but Dean was right there with Chris's pace, one hand sliding beneath the one beneath him and pressing against the small of his back to lift him up a little. It was hard to believe they fit so damn well together, despite the whole 'both being boys' thing, which for some reason had made Dean think this sort of stuff just _couldn't_ work.

But it was working, all right, and he was already half hard just from kissing. It amazed him just how weird things could get in his life, and how he rolled with it…

He needed more skin contact, he quickly realized, because he at _least_ wanted to go as far as what they'd done in the hotel room. Removing his hand, since the other one planted on the seat was supporting him, Dean released the younger one, and then wriggled his hand between them, pulling up at the hem of Chris's shirt. Chris caught on quick and began tugging it up and over his head in the few moments they had broken apart. With it now on the floor, Chris's hands were free to work their way to Dean's shirt, and soon had it off, too, although the entire task had proven difficult with the limited space they had.

Now topless, Dean lowered himself to Chris again, tilting his head as he went for the younger one's neck. Chris smelled like some herby, hippie soap and some other faint scents, and it was such a _guy_ sort of smell that Dean almost stopped, until he realized how nice and simple it was. Not as floral as he was used to, but nonetheless a nice change. With a low groan he licked at the hollow of Chris's throat, sliding their bodies together and shifting his legs around to position himself better. He felt Chris's body arch up against his.

"_God_…" the witch whispered, biting his lower lip and lightly digging his nails into the small of Dean's back.

Dean smirked against his neck, his hand busy trying to touch as much warm, taut skin as it could find. When he shifted to lift his chest his booted foot knocked against the back door with a _thunk_, and he let out a huff of laughter. He was really too tall to be trying to do this in the car fully dressed.

He lifted his head a little and breathed against Chris's ear, panting a bit, "I don't care about the friggin' hex…this is so god damned hot…"

What led him to say that he wasn't sure, but at the moment it was truer than anything Dean had felt in a while.

Chris let out a breathy laugh. "Hell yeah, it is…"

He turned to nuzzle his cheek and part of his nose against Dean's face. His thin fingers continued to move up and down the other's back, gripping, feeling, touching. He soon gripped Dean's neck again, bringing his head down so he could bury his face in the older one's short hair. Dean allowed him to maneuver him how he wanted, more focused on the nuzzling than anything else. That was an affectionate move, and it had caused a warm wave to ripple through him. He liked it.

With a low moan Dean fastened his mouth onto Chris's shoulder, kissing, sucking and biting the flushed skin. He started thinking about their pants, and about how much of a trick it would be to get them off. His fingers caught Chris's waistband, where his thumb pushed at the button of his fly. It took a moment but it finally gave way, and Dean tugged down, causing the zipper to open jerkily. That earned him the first—and certainly not the last—moan from Chris that evening. Dean wasn't sure if he'd ever heard or felt anything that went right to his dick quicker than that, and that was saying something.

In an effort to help remove his pants Chris began to wriggle his hips, also working on kicking his sneakers to the floor. As Dean tugged the jeans down further, the young witch's briefs went along for the ride, leaving him completely bare. Chris pressed his erection against part of Dean's jeans, cursing quietly and closing his eyes.

Breathing heatedly into Chris's ear, the hunter moved his hand to work at his own jeans, tugging them open and shoving them down. He managed to get them down to his waist but there they stayed, out of his reach.

"Damn it," he muttered, squirming atop the younger one and moving almost onto his side, between the back of the seat and Chris, back to the leather. "Help me out here, would you, sweetheart?" he asked, not catching the use of the pet name. Chris didn't seem to catch it, either, doing just as Dean asked to help him slide out of his pants. Dean had already kicked his boots off while removing Chris's pants. Having done this more than a few times before, he knew the tricks.

With the two of them now fully naked, Chris brought Dean's body closer to him. He lifted his hips upward and met Dean's groin with his own, grinding them together completely on his own accord.

"That better?" Chris whispered into Dean's ear then, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Dean, a little surprised by the younger one's eagerness, grinned wickedly, letting out a breath. "Hell yeah." One arm wrapped around the witch, holding him close as he thrust his hips against Chris's. It wasn't really enough, though, and soon his hand was gliding down, over the pale hip and across Chris's abdomen, eventually coming across the erection resting there. With a brief pause and hard swallow, he wrapped his fingers around it, pressing a harsh kiss to the other's mouth.

Half expecting to feel it himself, Dean tugged gently, sliding his thumb over the moist head. There were many other things racing through his mind at that moment, but he figured it would be better not to rush into things. This would work perfectly for the time being. Chris responded very positively—his hips thrust upward and he grunted low in his throat, an almost animalistic sound that Dean had never heard from him before. That, coupled with Chris licking his lips with his tongue while they kissed, nearly knocked Dean over the edge. The sensation sent a jolt all the way through him, and suddenly, it didn't matter that he'd never jerked another guy off before. Dean wanted to, wanted to _badly_, and _now_.

Tangling their legs together, he tensed his arm a little, stroking Chris a few times. It was an odd angle, since he was used to doing it to himself, but he managed, even able to start kissing back fully again, if a little messily. His kisses soon moved over Chris's chin and to his jaw as he ground his hard on into the side of the other's hip. That caught Chris's attention, whose hips bucked up and whose length slid deeper into Dean's hand.

"Jesus," Chris exhaled with a grunt.

Dean still expected to feel the sensation of stroking Chris. He wasn't a pro at doing this on others, far from it, and so he just did what he liked, himself—his thumb and first two fingers tight around the shaft while the other two stayed loose, hand tugging up and down in short strokes. He thrust his own hips again against the warm skin of Chris's hip, which drew small sounds from his throat. As Dean squirmed and swallowed hard, he moaned out the other's name.

Dean was content to continue stroking Chris like that, but the sudden feeling of fingers around his length caught him off guard. His stomach muscles tightened reflexively and he hissed, the sensation tensing his body. Thankfully Chris didn't take it as a sign to stop. If anything, he took it as a sign to keep going. Soon, Dean felt a strong grip around the base of his erection, followed by a few strokes. The fingers then loosened and rose further up, closer to his head, where again some strokes followed. It wasn't what he was used to, but the new sensation was nonetheless enjoyable. At that point Dean could only really manage one-syllable words, lips parted slightly while he panted against Chris's neck. His sensitive skin felt the presence of stubble beneath the younger one's chin, and for some reason, that turned him on even more.

He felt an urge for _more_, but didn't know where to go with it. In the back of his brain, in the part that was sitting there in shock of what they _were_ doing, the thought of putting Chris in his mouth sort of repulsed him. But those thoughts shifted into thoughts of Chris sucking _him_ off, and Dean gave a shudder, fingers curling tighter and his thumb sliding up to swipe across the head as he stroked him.

The position they were in, cramped in the narrow backseat, was making a dull ache settle into Dean's back, and he arched it a little to try and relieve it. It brought his mouth near the other's ear, and he moaned into it, lips brushing over the edge before he bit at the lobe. His nose and cheek brushed against the witch's dark hair.

"So…fucking hot," he groaned, not paying as much attention to what was coming out of his mouth as to what was coming out of Chris's. The young witch's moans and pants encouraged him further, making him want to get the other off just as much as he wanted to get off, himself.

Chris slipped his hand away from Dean's shaft and went toward his balls, which he began to fondle. Dean bent his leg a little to give Chris more room, wanting to keep it going. This wasn't the most awkward position he had ever been in, but it was on the list. As the muscles in his stomach and around pelvis tightened, Dean continued to nip and suck on Chris's earlobe, panting against it. He continued to thrust his hips. As before, it wasn't going to take that much more to get him off—he could already feel that warm, pervasive fire in the pit of his stomach.

He sighed into Chris's ear, voice low and coarse. "Nngh…come on, baby…"

He was using his whole hand now to jerk Chris off, pulling and stroking until the muscles along his shoulder and forearm burned. By now the only thought in his mind _was_ the two of them getting off. Had he paid closer attention, he would have caught on to the fact that Chris's body was giving the signs of imminent climax. His breath came in short, huffing pants, while his arousal pulsed and his hips thrust roughly into the grip.

Chris's fervent jerking came to a sudden stop as he called out, "Fuck, Dean, I'm coming!"

His orgasm hit him hard. The younger one bucked his hips repeatedly as he came, panting in a higher pitched moan. He spilled himself onto his stomach and down Dean's hand, his body tense. It was weird, feeling Chris strain against him like that, but he enjoyed it.

"Yeah, that's it, come on…" Dean groaned, still stroking Chris even after he had climaxed. It wasn't until the power of his own arousal took over that he let go, now gripping Chris by the hip, against which he thrust. It was slick with Dean's pre-come, providing smooth, but good, friction to help get him off. He leaned his head down to kiss the younger one. Chris responded after a moment, his hand stopping Dean's thrusting as his fingers took up their original position. It was awkward, the way they were positioned, and so instead of stroking, Chris settled on tightly gripping around the head, rubbing his thumb vigorously against its underside and over the opening.

"Come on, Dean," Chris spurted out between their fast, broken kisses. "Come on…"

Had Dean been able to find his voice, he would have told Chris that what he was doing was just perfect, and that he was nearly there. As it was, his pent-up orgasm nearly burst from him with the touching, and he broke the kiss, unable to keep up with it.

He let out a choked groan. "Jesus _Christ_…!"

As he came, Dean pressed their bodies together hard enough to trap Chris's hand, his fingers digging into the other's hip and lower back. His orgasm raced through him and made him tremble. By the time it was over he pressed his cheek against Chris's, panting. It left him feeling high and weak, but thoroughly satisfied.

Dean moaned and shifted some, closing his eyes. He didn't want to let the other go, and instead he tried to almost pull him closer. He wasn't ready to face reality—wasn't ready to acknowledge the fact that they were still just in the backseat of the impala, sweaty, sticky and cramped up. It was just the two of them, and whether it was the hex or on his own accord, Dean liked that fact.

Chris gave a content sigh, murmuring, "That was…nngh."

Dean snorted after a minute. "That was _awesome_," he responded in a slow draw, letting out a chuckle as he sank his face into Chris's neck.

Their second time around left him feeling even more comfortable with what was going on between him and the witch. Sam was _not_ going to be happy with him, but Dean ignored that thought. He finally pulled away from Chris, although just a little, where he noticed they stuck together somewhat. He gave a grunt of distaste.

*

Across town, Wyatt had woken up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. He never turned on the light on his way out of the bedroom, and so he didn't right away catch that Chris was gone. It wasn't until he was on his way back in that the light from the hallway revealed his brother's empty bed. At any normal moment in their lives, Wyatt would have thought that Chris was downstairs getting a snack—sometimes he did that—or that he had gone to use the bathroom downstairs for his number two's, like he always did.

But tonight was not a normal moment in their lives. After what he and his brother had gone through with Dean and Sam, Wyatt knew that Chris could only be in one place. He gave him the benefit of the doubt nonetheless and ran a quick check through the house, but it was just as he had feared: his brother was nowhere to be found.

Returning to their room Wyatt dressed himself with haste, cursing as he orbed to the hotel room and to the hunters. To his surprise the room was mostly empty, save for the large figure sleeping in the single bed against the wall. From the looks of it Dean was gone, too. Where the hell were they?

Wyatt's abrupt arrival had woken up Sam, who rolled over from his side and onto his back. He let out a quiet grunt as he rubbed his eyes.

"Dean?"

"Sam, it's me, Wyatt. Where's Chris? Did he come here?"

Wyatt walked over to the bathroom door and pushed it in, half-expecting either Dean or Chris to be hiding in the tub. He wouldn't have put it past them. When he stepped back into the main room he noticed Sam, who had sat up in the bed and was scratching at his hair, looked much more alert.

"Chris isn't here," came his immediate response. He glanced to his left. "…Fuck. Dean's not, either. Where—" Sam nearly jolted out of the bed and rushed to the kitchenette, looking around for what Wyatt could only assume was some kind of note or something to let him know where he had gone. "They've probably gone somewhere together," Sam announced after slamming his hand against the table.

"Damn it," Wyatt muttered, having realized that at the same time Sam had. Both of their brothers missing, most likely together, doing God knew what…probably nothing they'd approve of. And even after he had agreed to go along with it, for Chris's sake. He hadn't meant that this kind of thing was acceptable…."We've got to find them, this is ridiculous." He waved his hand at the lamp to turn it on with his power, bringing some light into the room.

"You're telling _me_," Sam said, sounding almost accusatory. "I don't know where they'd go, but Dean's keys aren't here…" And one look out the window prompted him to add, "Neither is the impala."

"They could be _anywhere_," Wyatt said, feeling momentarily desperate. He put a hand to his head and tried to brush out the irrational thought that Dean had kidnapped Chris, driving off in that stupid car to God only knew where. He needed to calm down…there was no way he could sense where his brother was if he couldn't keep himself under control.

He sighed slowly through his nose, closing his eyes and lifting his head back. The familiar presence of his brother soon bubbled to the surface, breaking past all of the anxiety and discomfort. In his mind's eye a park formed, showing the impala near a collection of picnic tables. That was all Wyatt needed, and so he opened his eyes, reaching out to grip Sam's wrist.

"I know where they are. Hang on."

*

After Chris had recited a small spell to clean them off, Dean held him close to his body, the two of them now lying on their sides in the back of the impala. Dean was sandwiched between the leather seat and Chris's warm body, one hand resting comfortably on the other's narrow hip.

"You okay with this?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," came Chris's simple, but telling answer. He smiled. "I don't think I could be naked in the backseat of a car if I weren't." The smile turned playful. "Congrats."

Dean couldn't help but grin, because it was sort of funny. "No one can resist me."

"You and your damn ego…."

It was about that time that Wyatt arrived with Sam in tow. The younger hunter wasn't as used the feeling of orbing as he thought he might have been, so when they materialized in the park, he had to take a moment to recuperate.

Sure enough, though, just as Wyatt had predicted, there was the impala. They had to have been parked there for a while for the windows to be as fogged up as they were, and Sam had only fallen asleep a while ago—long after Dean had. That made him remember the hex, and thoughts of what they had done entered his head. He grew nauseous inside. Nonetheless, he started for the car, an intense look in his eyes when he reached down to grip the handle of the door. Despite what he knew he was going to see, he pulled it wide open.

The sight before him would have blinded him had Sam tried to prepare for it beforehand. There, in the back seat, were Dean and Chris, both buck naked and glistening with drying sweat.

A mortified look took over the older hunter's face as he shouted quickly in obvious shock, "_Oh my fucking God_!" After a split second the shock turned to anger. Dean grabbed the jeans he had been toying with earlier and shoved them into his lap, glaring viciously at Sam.

"Sam?! What the _fuck_! Shut the fucking door!"

Inside, Chris glared, too—but his carried a much stronger weight. Sam barely had time to jump back before the door slammed shut on him. He bolted forward and gripped the handle, pulling on it with all his strength.

"Damn it, Chris!" he shouted, knowing the witch was using his power to keep it shut. "What the hell are you two doing here in the park this late at night? God damn it!"

Sam wasn't so angry about the fact that they were doing _that_—okay, maybe he _was_—as much as he was about them having done it so secretly. He growled, about ready to tear the door off its frame, when Wyatt grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back.

"Stand back, Sam. Let me."

Once Sam had stepped back, the older witch held out his hand towards the car, wiping his hand to the side. Suddenly the entire door blurred into pale blue orbs and solidified on some grass, now lying about a dozen yards away. Wyatt's power had removed it cleanly from the vehicle.

Wyatt moved closer, glaring into the backseat.

"Chris! Get out here, _now_!"

Inside, Dean had been struggling to put on his pants. He stopped and gaped at the newfound lack of a back door. "My _car_!" he cried, bolting into action a moment later, his jeans on but unbuttoned as he hauled himself across the seat. He stared at Wyatt, flabbergasted. "What the fuck did you do to my _car_?!"

Sam watched as the fully clothed Chris orbed himself out of the car and near his brother. Chris looked livid, and his voice nearly cracked when he yelled, "Why the hell did you do that, Wyatt? You just _destroyed_ Dean's car!"

While the two witches began to argue, Sam took this time to step in and talk to his own brother. There was an obvious look on distaste in his eyes as he stared at his scantily clad sibling. "What do you think you're doing?"

Dean, still freaking out about the dismantled door of his precious car, turned a very foul look on his brother. "What's it _look_ like, Sam?" he spat, finally hauling himself out of the car. Bullets scattered everywhere as he snatched his shirt from behind the front seat, angrily slipping it on once he stood outside. Goose bumps covered nearly every inch of his upper body.

"I hope you plan on fixing my damn car, bitch!" he barked, aiming a nasty glare at Wyatt, who merely cocked an eyebrow at him and raised his hand aggressively.

"_Don't_ you raise your hand at him like that," Chris warned, anger lighting up his eyes. "And you know what? It _wasn't_ the hex, Wyatt. You're wrong. That"—he pointed to the car—"was all my doing. _On my own accord_."

Sam, upon hearing that, looked and felt like he was going to be even sicker. He thought on some level that it applied to Dean, too, and he really didn't know what to think of that. But he wasn't stupid, and he didn't move when his brother then tried to push past him to get to Wyatt and Chris. Sam had both height and weight over Dean, and he used it to its fullest advantage.

"You couldn't have at least _told_ me?" Sam asked in frustration. "I wouldn't have had any God damn clue where you went! I can't teleport all over the fucking place like these two can!"

Sam vaguely heard Wyatt's surprised reaction to what Chris had said. "Him? Are you _kidding_ me?!" Their argument continued as Dean and Sam's did.

Dean growled. "Sam, it's not like that." He stopped, and that pause could only mean that it _was_ like that. Sam almost gagged, angry that his brother couldn't even look him in the eyes. "I've got my phone," Dean continued. "You could've called. It wasn't like I wasn't coming back. I just needed…" He furrowed his eyebrows. "It was just something I needed."

Sam appeared even more aghast at what Dean said. "How the fuck was I supposed to know? How the _fuck_ was I supposed to know…" By the end, it sounded more like he was just stating it rather than asking it. Reaching up, he rubbed his eyes. He couldn't believe this. "God."

Dean reached up and firmly hooked a hand around his brother's neck, pulling him close. "Sammy, listen to me. I'm _not_ going anywhere," he said in a low, intense voice. "This doesn't affect _us_, okay? I'm not going to leave you. I know it's fucked, but I'm still me. I'm still your big brother, okay?"

At that moment, Sam caught the scent of sex that wafted off of Dean. It didn't make him feel any better, but he focused more on the grip, because it was somewhat comforting. It was hard for Sam to admit that he would feel lost without his brother, especially now that Dean was all he had. Maybe he was overreacting. But with less than a couple of months left to save his brother, who didn't seem to give much of a shit about himself, Sam's screws had slowly come undone, leaving him partially unstable.

"We're gonna fix this hex," was all Sam said.

On some level, he figured it would fix everything…stop it all. Make things better. And then they would be right back where they had been before. Maybe that was worse.

"Yeah, I know, Sammy. We'll fix it." Dean sounded distant then, but he gave a slightly hollow grin and took his hand back, using it to grip Sam's shoulder and give him a firm little shake. "'Till then, we're just gonna roll with it. S'not so bad." He made a face that read _'really, I've probably done worse'_. The sad thing was, it was probably true.

At that point Sam turned his attention Chris and Wyatt, noticing the way the darker haired witch was eying his own brother.

"I didn't mean for it to come out like that," Chris said. He shook his head, stuttering. "I—that's not—well, you know what I mean. I just…" He scratched the back of his neck.

Whatever they were talking about was lost on Sam. He had missed half of their argument, anyways. Chris's response, however, set Wyatt off. The tall blond blanched, lifting up a hand as if to stop Chris from explaining further.

"Dude. What the _hell_ are you gonna tell Mom and Dad?" His voice took on the slightest hint of a whine. "Are you gonna bring him to _Thanksgiving_ or something?" He moved closer to Chris then, taking him by the arm. What he said next was too quiet for Sam to hear, but it had apparently hit Chris hard, because the younger witch pulled back, looked almost betrayed.

"We're gonna fix it," Chris told Wyatt, in a voice that was very serious and determined. "And I'll deal with those things when the time comes. If he tries anything, it's not that hard to change it." He sent Dean a glance, which made Sam's insides flare for some reason.

"We need to get back," he stated flatly. "Wyatt! Can you fix the car door so I can get Dean back to the motel?"

Wyatt muttered to Chris, "Will you please just be careful?" before stepping back and turning to Sam. In a louder voice he said, "Yeah, Sam, sure thing." He pointed at the door, then at the car. The two reconnected as if they had never been apart.

In that moment, Dean approached Chris, pausing just a few yards away. While it was obvious the two of them wanted to be close, the presence of their brothers was stopping it. Sam had half a mind to grab Dean and toss him in the car, himself.

"I'll…talk to you later," Chris said, giving a telling smile that made Dean give one back.

Sam ignored it and offered Wyatt his thanks. Afterward, he gripped Dean's shoulder and then started to turn him toward the impala so that he could drive them back to the motel. He headed for the driver's side but started at the sound of Dean's hand slamming against the hood of the car.

"Passenger's side, bitch," Dean said, pointing at him.

Maybe it was because he was so used to just doing what Dean said, or maybe it was because he had _no_ idea where they were, but Sam let Dean climb into the driver's side this time, slipping into his usual spot beside him to his right. He did so hesitantly however, immediately smelling that scent that lingered after sex. It was almost too much to handle, and Sam gagged just a bit, covering his mouth.

Once Dean was in the car he turned to Sam, concern distorting his features. "Look. Sam. Come on. Lighten up, okay?" Reaching over, he grabbed at Sam's knee, pushing it a bit. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry? Want something to eat? Or are you gonna pout and be pissy with me all night, huh?"

No response came from Sam at first. He just sat there, looking forward at the view in front of him, not really sure what to say in response. He wasn't _hungry_; he had been sleeping, so of course he wouldn't be. He didn't want anything to eat. And he wasn't going to pout or be pissy. He was _angry_. There was a difference to him.

When Sam finally did speak, it was with a somewhat disturbed look on his face, and a quiet, petulant tone. "It smells like sex."

Sam's words made Dean shift uncomfortably in his seat, and he threw a glance at the younger one before facing the road and twisting his hand on the steering wheel awkwardly. "Yeah. Sorry." But he didn't sound apologetic at all.

Although Dean probably didn't know it, Sam was angry with himself for being so upset about this. He didn't know why he was, or why it even mattered to him so much. It really shouldn't have. Yet, he couldn't seem to calm himself down.

"If you wanna get food we can go to that Taco Bell," he managed to say, but he sounded disinterested and a little distant.

Dean shrugged dismissively. "Nah, it's okay," he said, clipping his words a little.

Because of Dean's words, Sam knew that he had finally pissed his brother off. Unfortunately, Dean's way of dealing with people who got upset with him was to get upset right back. Sam didn't care, however. Dean would give in before he did, of that he was absolutely sure.

When they arrived back to the hotel room, Sam made said nothing about Dean staying out of the bed. He may have been angry, but he wasn't going to act like a complete dick and make his brother sleep on the floor. Instead he stayed quiet and moved around the room silently, absently cleaning up the mess from their dinner earlier that night, along with the mess of their clothes on the floor. Dean got a shower during this time, and he came back out right around the time that Sam had crawled onto the bed.

Dean sat on his edge of the bed, hair still damp, and his jaw line tight. "I don't see why it's such a big fucking deal," he muttered. "So he's a guy. Didn't realize you were so against that sort of shit." He sent an acidic glance at Sam before pulling the covers over him with irritated movements.

For the first time since they had been there, Sam didn't crawl under the covers, too, choosing rather to sleep on top of them.

Sam coughed. "Sure am glad you cared enough to tell me there was even an inkling."

He slid down the bed and shifted until he was comfortable, closing his eyes. Dean never truly understood that lying to protect Sam was one of the things the younger hunter hated the most. Had his brother just told him the truth, he would have been a hell of a lot less upset than he was at that very moment. But Dean had that protector's complex, and whenever something he thought would hurt Sam came into the picture, he would always lie about it, thinking it would keep him safe. In the end it only made things worse.

He expected it to be dropped there, since this topic felt spent. But to his surprise, Dean rolled over, letting out a frustrated sigh. He stared at Sam with somewhat frightening intensity.

"All right, Sam, let's have that conversation now and you tell me if it's not so fucked up you _wouldn't_ have still gotten your panties in the biggest twist _ever_." His voice was sarcastically over-theatrical. "So, Sammy, you know that witch we met? That witch that's also a guy? I think he's _hot_, yeah, and even though I _know_ I'm under some kinda freaky hex, that's not stopping me from wanting to do all _kinds_ of the most _fucked up_ things with him. Even though I'm not into guys and I hate witches. Uh-huh, and the worst part? I'm not even _that_ totally _freaked_ about it anymore, 'cause he's really kinda sweet, once you get past all the nagging and the I-told-you-so attitude.

"And besides, I'm staring down the barrel of a gun, here, so cut me some fucking slack if maybe I want to live a little before I go to Hell." Dean stopped there, and Sam was glad he did; that last bit cut deep, making him not so much angry as hurt now.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Sam said coldly, almost accusingly, and with a look that held very little of Sam's puppy dog expression—it was uncharacteristically dark. "Do whatever the fuck you want."

And with that he rolled over, fully intent on leaving it there. He missed the glare that Dean gave him, followed by the softened expression of remorse and discomfort.

He didn't reply when Dean said, "Night, Sam."


	10. Movie Night

**Author's Notes: **New chapter time, yayay! And I'm feeling productive, too, because I'm starting chapter thirteen sometime after I finish my papers for class on Tuesday. Things are starting to get more serious (although I realize that sounds weird, since they've been serious all along...oops), but you'll see what I mean when you read. This chapter is sort of an interlude--just a moment for Dean and Chris to enjoy, and for Wyatt and Sam to talk. So, there are some POV changes, as designated like always by the little asterisks and all that fun stuff. :D

_Destatikai: _HAHA! Yes! I love that I got that reaction. :P It was just some twisted thought my friend and I got when we were RPing. We thought, how can we completely embarrass Dean and Chris? And it just so happened that we found it! As for Wyatt and Sam, that does start to change, I promise. For Wyatt, it isn't so much a matter of Chris being gay as it is him being with Dean. Dean and Wyatt don't get along so well. *cough* And yes, Sam is! But he'll figure that out. ;)

_Elfwarrior87: _Yeah, props to my RP partner Zane for coming up with that little gem about the shotgun. He plays Dean and Wyatt, and it was just...a hilarious line. I nearly started crying while I laughed, thinking about it.

_Blueeyesbetter: _I'd die of embarrassment, too, if it happened to me! That was the fun, though. ;)

_TyBass31: _Thanks so much! The similarities were sort of what prompted the RP, along with the idea of wanting to play in the SPN world while it was on hiatus during the writer's strike. =/

_Politics and Prose: _Thanks so much! Here's the next chapter. :D

Enjoy everyone! Thanks for all the thoughtful reviews! Don't forget to leave another if you'd be so kind!!

_

* * *

_

The expression of discomfort on Wyatt's face was so prominent that Chris almost felt it. He furrowed his eyebrows, gladly taking no offense when his brother's gaze avoided his eyes. It made things easier. This kind of embarrassment was legendary, and mixed with the frustration he felt? It wasn't a good combination.

"Look, Chris," Wyatt began. "I know this is hard for you, but can you just…tell me, you know, before you go running off with him again? I don't want to have to go chasing you down every time you…get an _itch_, or whatever."

Chris sat down on his bed and kicked off his shoes, beginning to tug down his pants. "I'll tell you next time, Wyatt. But honestly, I wasn't expecting to see him. He—" But he paused. He didn't want to make it seem like Dean was _completely_ to blame. Chris, too, was pretty guilty. Possibly more so for having instigated things to escalate to the level they did. "It wasn't planned, okay?"

Wyatt just nodded and rubbed a hand over his face, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his jeans, as well. He dropped them all at the foot of his bed. "Yeah, well…cat's out of the bag, now, and I'd rather you _tell_ me you're going to see him than just letting me wonder. At least then I know where the heck you are."

"Okay," Chris offered, in an effort to placate Wyatt. He wasn't like some fugitive, and it wasn't as if his brother couldn't just _find_ him when he needed to. But he would much prefer it didn't get to that level, so maybe telling him wouldn't be such a bad idea….

As he crawled into bed, he asked, "Do you really think it's…just the hex for him?"

That thought had been bothering him ever since Wyatt had said it, and although he knew that his brother's answer was going to be yes, he wanted to know _why_. Wyatt was good at explaining himself, generally, and Chris hoped he could do so without their conversation escalating. Chris reminded himself to keep calm. These were uncharted waters for them, making things difficult to gauge.

"I honestly don't know, Chris," Wyatt sighed, voice softening. He turned off the lamp beside his bed, the only light now coming from the pale moon outside. He crawled into bed. "I can't imagine it would be anything else." He paused, as if to once again gauge Chris's reaction. "I just don't want you getting hurt, man. He doesn't seem like the type that goes around having flings with dudes, does he?"

That was true, but Chris immediately came up with something to counteract it. To his surprise he managed to keep it in. He was glad he did, too, because after Wyatt nuzzled into his pillow, the two shared a look, and his brother continued talking.

"Maybe there _is_ something…_more_. The only way we can know is by breaking the hex. I promise we'll get started on that as soon as we figure out how to break that damn contract." The blond huffed then, and laughed quietly. "Damn it, Chris. You couldn't have fallen for a like, nice…professor, or something, huh? It had to be some crazy ass hunter with a contract out on his soul?"

Despite himself, Chris laughed, too. He couldn't help it. As crazy as it sounded, it was true. Maybe that supposed curse for Halliwells being unable to fall for anyone normal wasn't a lie, after all. "I think it's in our genes, Wy. We can't just make it _easy_."

Wyatt snorted. He remained quiet for a little bit, a thoughtful look on his face. He then spoke with slight hesitation. "You know…we don't…_have_ to break the hex, Chris…"

Chris couldn't really believe what had just come out of the other's mouth. In confusion and disbelief he asked, "…_What_?" He chuckled. "God, Wyatt, no. I don't…"

But something in the back of his mind picked at him and told him _yes, go with it_. _Don't break the hex and just let things remain as they are. You're not hurting anyone, and you're _happy_. Don't ruin your happiness again._

Reason won out over heart in this battle, however. Brow knitted, the younger one murmured, "No. If there's really something there, I kind of want to see for myself, without the hex. I think I deserve at least that."

"Well, you deserve a lot of things, little bro," Wyatt murmured back, shrugging himself deeper under his covers. He yawned and rubbed at his eye. "Just…think about it. You know. We can take our time with it, whatever."

"Yeah. Good night, Wy."

"'Night, Chris."

As Chris rolled over and turned his back to his brother, he, too, yawned. He knew Wyatt didn't mean it when he had suggested not fixing the hex. Still, it was an amusing thought, especially considering how against it he had been not too long ago. He was just trying to make Chris feel better, and for that, the young witch was thankful. Even if something inside of him wanted the hex to stay around forever, it wouldn't do them any good. What was the point?

He didn't know how they were going to go about this next, but that was tomorrow's problem.

. . .

It had been an agonizing couple of days since Chris and Dean had parted ways. No contact had been made on either one's end, although Chris figured that was probably for the best. He and Wyatt had hit the books quite hard to try and find out all that they could about the contract, but there was surprisingly little in Magic School regarding demons who held contracts to mortal's souls. Or at least, there was little that they could find.

That was only the tip of the iceberg. Chris, who had for ages exercised considerable control over his sexual urges, now had a much harder time keeping himself in line. His body constantly reminded him of the fact that it _wanted_ contact—wanted _Dean_, more specifically—and the ways in which it reminded him were downright distracting. There were one or two times he had come close to pleasing himself, but in a house as full as the Halliwell manor, it was nigh impossible to get a long enough moment alone to do it.

Perhaps most annoying was the fact that Wyatt had been watching him like a hawk ever since their discussion involving Dean, the contract and the hex. Wherever Chris went, Wyatt was usually right there alongside him. When he wasn't, he was sending text messages every so often or calling under the guise of something else. It was almost as if his brother expected him to up and leave at any given moment. Sure, he knew that he sometimes grew distant and was generally restless, but he wasn't _stupid_. Though he wanted to see Dean, and _badly_, he knew that doing so would only cause more problems. After all, it had the last time….

So, he stayed at the house, leaving only when he needed to. It wasn't exactly the best life to live, but for the time being, it was what he had. He made do with it.

He was in his room one late afternoon putting away his clothes when he saw Wyatt wander inside. The older one wiped at his eye before moving toward Chris's bed. Chris opened his mouth to prepare a verbal berating for him being there _yet again_, but Wyatt spoke first.

"So. Everyone is going out tonight. Mom and Dad are gonna go over to Aunt Phoebe's and Uncle Coop's, and Mel's got a date. I'm guessing you don't have any plans." He continued on before Chris could speak. "If you _wanted_…you could invite Dean over?" He looked at Chris, scrunching up his nose a little. "But only if you guys stay out of the open. None of that sneaking off, or whatever."

Chris's immediate reaction was joy. He didn't care that he had just spent the last two or three hours finally _truly _adjusting to the fact that he wasn't going to see Dean any time soon; all that mattered at that moment was that he would again. Unfortunately, that joy unraveled as curiosity and suspicion took over.

"Wait. Are you serious? What?"

Wyatt smirked a little. He shrugged, nonchalant, but something about his demeanor told Chris that he was nervous. About what, though, was lost on him. His brother had been waffling back and forth on Dean the last few days, going anywhere from thinking he was okay to loathing him. Like Chris, Wyatt didn't enjoy it when things were beyond his grasp of control. This was probably some kind of attempt to regain that power—by having Dean come over on _his_ time and _his_ terms.

"I just thought maybe you'd wanna see him, since you've been dragging your ass all over the house like you're heartbroken these past couple of days." He snorted, turning his gaze down to the hamper of clothes. "Just as long as you guys don't try locking yourselves in the pantry, or something. You've gotta stay in the room with me and Sam, who'll be coming along. I'll be damned if I give you the chance to even get his belt off."

_Oh, yes_, Chris thought. _This is all about regaining control._

As usual, he got defensive in response. "Look. I appreciate it, and I'll probably take you up on the offer. But I'm an adult, Wyatt, and I can do whatever I want, when I want." He folded his arms over his chest. "And I have _not_ been moping around like I'm heartbroken." But something gave him pause, and he asked almost tentatively, "Have I?"

God, was he that obvious?

"You _have_. And sure, you're an adult, but I'm still _older_. You can go out and do whatever you want, Chris, and _whoever_ you want, for that matter. Just remember one thing: I know what _and_ who you're doing, and if I want, I can tell Mom and Dad."

Wyatt moved toward his own bed, where a pile of fresh, folded clothes lay, all ready to be put up. He began sorting through it.

Chris stared long and hard at his brother. It was a viable threat, telling their Mom and Dad, and he should have figured Wyatt would use it. If they knew he was getting busy with a mortal hunter who had a contract on his head, there wouldn't be enough of Chris left after the discussion for Dean to even floss his teeth with. Still, he didn't think Wyatt would have gone to such obscene measures. Wasn't he supposed to be the _older_, more mature one?

But Chris knew he wasn't lying. Wyatt was more about control than Chris was, and when he lost it, he tended to do whatever it took to get it back. It was the perks of growing up with a neurotic mother with control issues.

Wyatt's voice broke the silence. "So, do you wanna call 'em? Nine works for me—Mom, Dad and Mel will all be gone by then. We can watch a movie, or something. Order a pizza."

It was hard for Chris to be stuck in the position in which he currently found himself. Nonetheless, he agreed to what Wyatt said, and almost immediately thereafter, he rounded up his cell phone and called Dean to set up them coming over. He wasn't too excited about Sam tagging along, but Wyatt had invited him, too. Plus, Chris had a strong feeling the younger hunter wouldn't let his brother out of _his_ sight, either.

Chris kept himself busy with menial housework (_Like mother, like son_, he thought) for the following few hours, choosing only to snack on some cereal to keep himself ready for the dinner pizza they would have sometime after Dean and Sam's arrival. Though he had already showered that day, the young witch took another quick one, just to get rid of all the dirt and grime from cleaning. Afterward he dressed himself in a nice linen button-up decorated in light blue stripes, along with a pair of good-looking jeans. It was far from formal, but it wasn't quite casual, either. He looked presentable. But, what mattered most was that Chris found it very comfortable still.

While Wyatt pointlessly straightened up the already clean living room, Chris ordered three pizzas for them in the kitchen. He had just hung up the phone when the sound of the old-fashioned doorbell rang throughout the manor.

Chris was out and into the foyer before Wyatt even had time to blink.

The younger witch pulled back the left door to reveal the two hunters standing on the other side. With a smile toward Dean, he said, "Evening."

A full-blown grin brightened Dean's features. He tilted his head, flashing the grin shamelessly. "Evening." He moved closer then, slipping a hand up and laying it against Chris's side. He leaned forward and ghosted his lips across his cheek. His words were quiet, intentionally low. "Missed you."

"Missed you, too."

Chris was too wrapped up in the moment to really notice Sam's briefly displeased expression, or the arrival of his brother just behind him. He only pulled back—tugging Dean along, of course—when Wyatt said,

"Come on in, guys. We ordered pizza, so it should be here soon!"

Sam had stepped past Dean and Chris and had gone with Wyatt into the living room. By the time the dark haired witch brought the older hunter there, both Sam and Wyatt were already settled comfortably in the two spacious armchairs. Chris eyed the couch, then his brother, wondering if it had been an intentional move. He surmised it was. After all, had they sat in a chair together, either Dean or Chris would have invariably sat on the other's lap.

That would have caused mass hysteria—of that he was sure.

Chris led Dean toward the couch and sat down. Dean sprawled out on the cushion beside him, nuzzling into the nook made by the arm and the back.

"So, pizza, huh?" Sam asked Wyatt. "Haven't had any pizza here yet. Is it any good?"

Wyatt turned to Sam and shrugged. "Just normal take-out stuff...nothing spectacular. But, they throw in some really awesome breadsticks and garlic sauce."

"Awesome," Dean said with a grin.

He sought out Chris's hand, at which point Chris realized that they had yet to actually turn on the movie. Knowing Wyatt, it was already prepared to go, and so the younger witch looked for the remote. To his surprise, it lay on the end table just on the other side of Dean. He had to reach over the hunter to get it, which made his skin tingle and his stomach do a minor flip. Since his brother wasn't freaking out he could only assume that Wyatt hadn't thought it to be monkey business.

He hated that he had to be so censored around Wyatt. Dean probably felt the same way with Sam….

With remote in hand, Chris sat back down again and started up the movie. He turned up the volume loud enough so that it would deter conversation. Afterward, he scooted closer to Dean, enjoying the warmth that emanated from his body. The manor was always drafty at night, and surely, Dean would be more effective than a blanket. He was sure of that once the other's arm draped loosely around his shoulders, which also brought an odd sense of comfort.

Sam shot the two a look, but neither his brother nor Chris caught it. Even if Chris had, he wouldn't have cared. Sam couldn't bring his mood down at that moment. He was relaxed, but most importantly, he was _happy_. His hand made its way to Dean's kneecap, against which he tapped his fingers with a light touch.

The disc started up and ran through some previews before the menu appeared to select whether to begin with the movie or some of the special features. After Chris pressed the button to start the movie he set the remote beside him and shifted just a little against Dean's body.

For the first few minutes of the movie, all four paid close attention to it. But soon Chris felt Dean's fingers drawing lazy, shapeless designs on his upper arm, catching his attention here and there. Eventually he had a hard time focusing, knowing that it had everything to do with the one beside him. Dean seemed just as distracted. He shifted slightly, his mouth coming in close contact with the side of Chris's head.

He nuzzled the hair just above the outer rim of his ear. "Think we can slip out later?" he whispered, his warm breath tickling the young witch.

Chris wanted to say yes, yes they could, but he doubted it. Their wardens wouldn't let them go without some kind of fight, he was sure. They were just going to have to deal with what they were given. That irritated him, but seeing Dean under these circumstances was better than not seeing him at all.

"No," came his unfortunate reply. Chris tried not to shift too much so as to not draw attention to them. Sam and Wyatt kept their eyes on the television. He leaned into Dean's touch and squeezed his knee sympathetically, wanting to show that he was sorry.

"All right." Dean sounded much less dejected than Chris would have thought; perhaps he had expected such an answer. He turned his head and rested his cheek against the side of Chris's head.

Almost as if he had been listening to their little conversation, Wyatt turned his head back toward Chris and Dean. The dark haired witch could tell by the way he pulled his gaze away that he hadn't liked what he had seen. To his mild surprise Wyatt pushed himself out of the chair, clearing his throat.

"Drinks. Anyone want something to drink? I'm gonna get a soda or something."

"I do."

Not surprisingly, Sam stood up. He masked his eagerness with a long stretch. It was over-exaggerated and pointless, seeing as he hadn't been sitting for more than maybe fifteen minutes.

In an effort to get both of them out and keep them out for at least a minute or two, Chris said, "I'll take some soda in a glass, Wy. Thanks." He looked at Dean, wondering if he would catch on.

And of course, he did.

"Beer, if you got it. Thanks."

Wyatt nodded to the both of them and gestured for Sam to follow him into the kitchen. They were barely into the dining room when Chris went right for Dean's mouth.

*

Sam watched in silence as Wyatt grabbed a pair of glasses from the cabinet and set them on the counter, going toward the refrigerator to pull out two cans of sodas and two beers. His moves were all so casual, so lacking in any kind of tenseness or irritation. In a way, it was admirable. But for the most part, it was just frustrating. How Wyatt couldn't feel as strung up about this as Sam did, he just didn't understand.

When the pressure of his feelings finally were just too much, Sam shifted and bumped into the counter, reaching up to run a hand through his hair.

"This is—," he began. But he stopped himself.

Wyatt just chuckled. "Sick and wrong?" he asked over his shoulder, pouring one of the cans of Pepsi into the glass. "Or maybe too weird to think about without screaming?" He turned around, giving Sam a strange sort of grin—almost as if he didn't know how to respond, himself. "I hate to say it, Sam, but this isn't the weirdest thing that's happened in my family. Feels like it, though."

"It's all of that and more," Sam said. He looked at Wyatt imploringly, even though he was well aware that the older witch didn't have all of the answers. Sam just needed somebody to talk to, because who else was there besides Dean? How could you talk to someone when they were part of the problem?

"Dean's never…he's never _acted_ like this before. And it may not be weird for _your_ family, but it's sure as hell weird in mine. I didn't think a hex could get to him this badly, which worries me, because…what if, you know? What if?"

"What if what, Sam?" Wyatt furrowed his brow. He had a lost look on his face. "Chris has never even _been_ with anybody before. You think I'm not freaking out about this, too? First, I find out that he's into guys, which, don't get me wrong, I don't really _care_ about, but then there's also the fact that he thinks this thing with Dean isn't so much the _hex_ as it is genuine _feelings_."

The older witch read tense all over now. Sam watched as he struggled to not spill the soda while pouring the second can into the other glass. "Do you know how fucked up that is?" He shook his head and sent Sam's beer sliding across the kitchen island after he popped it open. "And all this happening in the span of what, two or three months? It's ridiculous."

Sam felt guilty for being so self-centered in thinking only about Dean. Wyatt had done nothing but try to help him, and the fact that he hadn't tried to help out the blond witch rubbed him the wrong way. Wyatt was in the same boat he was, only with different circumstances.

He drank nearly half the beer in one chug, surprising himself. He put it down and eyed Wyatt with a mixed look of concern and frustration. "We should have tried to stop that damn Trickster. That would have saved us so much time. Because I swear, Dean just…this isn't _him_. He doesn't _do _this with guys. He's the straightest man out there, and I've seen some real winners…"

"Well, maybe he wasn't," Wyatt quipped. "I mean, I dunno, Sam. I thought Chris was straight until a few nights ago. He's always been weird, but…I've _never_ seen him like this. He's seriously into your brother—_beyond_ the hex's 'into', and at first I didn't believe him, but I can see it." He gave a sigh, his features growing heavy. "It's gonna kill him when we figure this out and make Dean better."

Sam didn't respond to that. That he may have been wrong about Dean's heterosexuality worried him. If he couldn't be sure about that, something that was as basic as the sun rising in the east, then how the hell could he be sure of anything _else_ about his brother? Dean made it no secret that he liked girls, as well as everything about them. So for him to be so into Chris was just _weird_.

He, too, sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"Look, Sam," Wyatt began soothingly. "Even if it isn't the hex, it'll be okay. Dean's under a lot of stress right now, you know? Maybe he's just latching on to Chris to fulfill some need he can't go to you for."

Although that sounded like complete bullshit to Sam, it was nonetheless a viable option that he hadn't considered. Dean had said it himself: he had less than a year left, and he didn't plan on throwing himself a pity party. He just wanted to enjoy what little time he had left. For Dean, that usually meant something sexual. But if that was the case, then why not go for a girl? Sam wondered if the hex had something to do with it. That, or maybe he was growing more reckless with himself as the deadline approached.

_How frustrating_, Sam thought tiredly.

"You could be right. Ugh."

Wyatt shrugged. "I could be! Or who knows? I could be full of shit, and it could just be the hex. I haven't gotten the chance to do much research on the hex itself; been focusing more on the contract." He went quiet then, picking up his and Chris's glasses of soda. "We should get back in there. God only knows what they've been doing since we've been gone."

God only knew was right. When that thought entered Sam's head, he turned suddenly and moved into the small pathway between the kitchen and the dining room. In his deep, resounding voice he barked, "Dean!"

If anything _was _happening, then he sure as hell had just stopped it.

Wyatt smirked. "It _was_ a little too quiet in there…"

"Yeeeah, Sam?" came Dean's inconspicuous reply from the living room, a few seconds later.

"Too quiet." With a faint smirk, Sam then said in the same loud voice, "Never mind! Got a glass."

He figured he would give them a moment, knowing they were undoubtedly up to something. When he was sure that they could safely return to the living room, Sam headed back in, along with Wyatt. He didn't fail to notice that Dean and Chris were sitting further apart than they had been originally, and that the witch's cheeks were pink.

Sam's lips thinned as he handed Dean his beer. "Here."

Dean looked up at him for a moment. There was no hint of guilt in his gaze, which bothered Sam for reasons he wasn't entirely sure of. "Thanks, Sammy."

As Sam moved to sit down and Wyatt gave Chris his drink, from nearby came a knock. Wyatt, still the only one standing, said, "I'll get it" and crossed through the archway, into the foyer. It was the pizza man, who handed over their dinner in exchange for some cash. Wyatt came sauntering into the living room a few moments later with three boxes in hand, which he set side by side on the coffee table.

"Dinner's ready."

The pizza's arrival broke up some of the situation's awkwardness. Chris was the first to go for one of the boxes, popping open the lid and pulling out a slice of the meat lovers'. Sam followed suit, going for the Canadian bacon and pineapple. He didn't think much of it when he took a bite, not realizing that what he considered to be a bite differed greatly from that of the witches. A good quarter of his slice was gone by the time that the others had all gotten theirs, and a few moments after, it disappeared completely.

Nobody spoke, simply enjoying the pizza. The vocal silence sat just fine with Sam in particular—his eyes darted occasionally from the movie toward his brother and Chris, who kept their distance and watched the movie. Dean ate with reckless abandon, just as he always did. The sight and sound of his brother sucking on his thumb to get off the cheese and sauce made Sam chuckle quietly.

"Dude…" Wyatt eyed Dean. "You need a napkin?"

Dean just looked at him, raising his eyebrows. "Nah, m'cool."

Sam chuckled at Wyatt's polite gesture. "I should have told you. Dean's got no manners; he eats like a pig. But it's okay," he said, noticing the way Dean looked at him, "we don't judge him for it. It's just the way he is."

And for the first time in quite a while, Sam smiled at Dean. But he only did so because what he had said was true: Dean was just being himself.

Dean responded in such a way that gave light to their argument being age old. "Dude. What's wrong with the way I _eat_?" Even as he asked, he folded the sauce-covered crust of his pizza in half like a taco, cramming a good portion of it into his mouth, as if to prove a point. He swallowed about half of it, then continued on, words partially garbled. "Trust me, when you grow up with the Human Food Vacuum over there"—he gestured to Sam—"then you learn to eat fast…manners be damned." He grinned a little, taking up his bottle to point it at Sam good-naturedly.

"I'm not a human vacuum, thanks," Sam said in a dry, but still somewhat amused tone. "I'm just…big. I got a lot of room to fill."

Chris chuckled, nudging Dean in the side with a grin. "It's okay, Dean, don't worry about it. Wyatt's a monstrous eater, too, so I'm used to people being like that."

"Oh, whatever," Wyatt laughed. "You're like, an inch shorter than me. Whiner."

Dean laughed as well. "Yeah…him eating all my food is the reason why he's so freakishly tall. Stole all my food…stunted my growth." He sniffed and took a long drink of his beer.

"Oh, please." Sam snorted. "You're only an inch or two shorter than I am, loser. You didn't miss shit." But, an amused look appeared on his face, staying put for a minute. It only began to disappear the moment he saw Dean and Chris getting close again.

He was going to have to think about this. Not only that, he would need to stop feeling so selfish about Dean. Sam was slowly realizing all of the reasons he was so against the whole thing as they sat there, and it made him feel guilty. What was worse, he felt ashamed of himself. Sam was swallowing a lot of things at that moment, namely his pride. Maybe he didn't have a right to be as angry as he did. Dean was an adult; he didn't need to tell Sam where he was going, what he was doing, or _who_ he was doing. The fact that Sam assumed that he needed to was his own problem…something that he needed to get over.

He grabbed another slice of Canadian bacon and pineapple, saying nothing more as he mentally chewed on that.


	11. Lie to Me

**Author's Notes**: New chapter!! Whoo!! I almost couldn't put this up because the website was giving me trouble! But, it managed to load finally, so here it is before I head off to work. I need to make it very clear (if it wasn't already) that _the RP that this story is based on took place BEFORE we knew all that we did about who had Dean's contract_ and all that. So, my friend and I improvised as best we could, coming up with a character who could sort of straddle both worlds. Now that I've basically given something away (I'm so subtle, really!), I hope you all enjoy the chapter, as always. :D Don't forget to let me know what you think!

_Zane: _You're very right, babe. I could have written what was going on in the living room, but I didn't want to. It's funnier to leave everyone questioning and imagining it themselves!

_Elfwarrior87_: Yeah, Sam can be a real douche sometimes. And you're _very_ right; he's jealous he doesn't have Dean's full attention anymore. :D

_Destatikai: _Hahaha, I'm glad you enjoyed that one. I had to write it, because it's just...so painfully true. All of them are just so A-type personality, it hurts. And yeah...there's definitely a bit more on Chris's side than there is Dean's. I can't give away anything, but it'll all become clearer in future chapters. Also, brotherly bantering ftw!

_Politics and Prose:_ I'm happy to hear that :D Hope you enjoy this chapter, too!

* * *

Over the next week that passed, Sam's anger toward Dean waned bit by bit until it fizzled out completely—just like it always did. Now things were more or less back to normal, which was good for the both of them. Neither Dean nor Sam really had anyone else to talk to in California except for Wyatt and Chris, and that just wasn't the same as one another. Sam wouldn't admit it, but a lot of the issues he had been struggling with before had had to do with how he had perceived his brother—and more specifically, how Dean had changed since they had come here to California.

Sam could tell Dean was happy that he had gone back to normal. And really, he couldn't blame him. Life was often a bitch when one or the other was angry, and it always made things more difficult, particularly when the angry one was Sam.

While sitting around the hotel room one morning watching television, Sam got a text message from Wyatt. He told him that he and Chris had managed to find information on the demon that held the contract for Dean's life. This news made him antsy, and he wanted to go over right away. But he knew that Dean wouldn't go to the manor and deal with something like that. After all, he had made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with their attempt to nullify the contract.

So, that afternoon, Sam told his brother that Wyatt and Chris had info on the hex and how to get rid of it. He hoped that Dean wouldn't question it and would just go with it. To his surprise, the older hunter agreed without so much as a snide comment, hopping into the impala and driving along to the Halliwell manor.

When they arrived, Sam slipped out of the car and stretched; his muscles ached from the night before, as he had slept somewhat badly due to the thoughts racing through his head.

This was possibly fixable. If they could do it, things would be so much better for everyone involved—Dean especially. For the first time in what seemed like ages, Sam felt hope.

He watched as Dean all but ran up to the front door of the manor, knocking on it with a grin. By the time Sam arrived Wyatt had answered it, smiling. He ushered them into the living room, where Sam noticed a large collection of obscure-looking texts sprawled out over the coffee table. In truth, he would give just about anything to even be able to _look_ at the books that Chris and Wyatt had access to. There was bound to be information on things he could only dream of.

"Where's Chris?" Dean asked.

As if on command, the young witch came down the stairs, a crystal dangling on a chain wrapped around his hand. Dean moved right for him, stopping at the bottom of the stairs with a smirk on his face.

"What, now you're getting me jewelry? I hate to say it, but I'm _really_ not the new-agey, crystal wearing type."

Chris looked perplexed at first. "What? Oh." He snorted. "Please. This isn't for you. You wouldn't look good with this crystal, anyways." He leaned down then and gave Dean a pat on the cheek in greeting, afterward heading into the living room with the older hunter following after him.

"So, this is the stuff we gathered," Wyatt said once all four circled the table.

The thought hadn't occurred to Sam to try and hide the texts from Dean, who was still under the assumption that what was going on had to do with the hex. He was so enthralled by the book before him that talked about the demon that held his brother's contract; he wanted to read as much as he could.

Dean's light chuckle caught his attention. He had one of the other books in his hand. "Wow, all these books for a hex? Must be a doozy," he joked.

"Yeah."

Wyatt reached out and took quick hold of the book, keeping it against him with a protective air about him. The text looked ancient, and was maybe even one of a kind, so Sam could understand him not wanting it to be in Dean's hands.

It only took one comment from Chris to unravel everything. "What're you talking about, the hex? We're looking for the demon you made the contract with, Dean. We found him, so we're gonna nullify it." He held up the crystal. "This is so we can try scrying for nearby witches who may be in trouble. Apparently, in his free time, he likes to go around stealing powers from witches to sell to other demons. He does souls, too, but that's apparently only with humans. My guess is since you guys can't really get 'em back…" he trailed off.

Sam wanted to choke Chris. He kept himself under control, somehow, looking almost as if he, too, were just a little surprised about what had been said. But the truth was out now, and there was no going back.

This was going to cause some issues….

The joking smile on Dean's face all but melted away as he turned to face Chris. He was angry—no other word sufficed at that moment. For a moment he eyed the witch, and then he turned his gaze on his brother. His nostrils flared and his eyebrows knit in an insidious glare. He shot a murderous look down at the pile of books.

"Damn it, Sam, I thought we'd _talked_ about this." He glanced back up at Sam then, who felt like shying away. "You _know_ I don't want this. You know I _can't_! I can't _believe_ you dragged me over here for this shit! Just…just _stop_, Sam! No more! No fucking more!"

He put his hands out in an exasperated gesture, sending a baleful stare Sam's way. His sudden explosion made the younger hunter's insides wrench. He knew that Dean was going to be mad about it, but he hadn't expected _that_ kind of response. Really, he should have.

Even if it didn't feel satisfactory, all Sam could say then was: "Sorry."

Surprisingly, Chris responded in his defense. "Jesus, Dean, don't kill him." He turned to face Sam. "Why didn't you tell him why he was coming here?"

At that moment, Sam could only shake his head. Dean seemed to feel it right to use this moment for more shouting.

"Sorry? Sam, this is your _life_ you're playing with! I can't let you just…just fuck this up!" He sounded almost desperate, and for a moment, Sam felt even worse than before. Thankfully Dean stared at Chris then, the frown lines deeply creased into his forehead. "And if he keeps this up, I won't _have_ to kill him! He's doing a damn fine job of that on his own!"

Wyatt stepped in then, irritation written all over his face. "Look, you can't keep him from wanting to save your life, so if you're gonna be a prick about it, just get the hell out, Dean. We'll save your life _without_ your help, just like you want." This was about the nastiest Sam had ever heard the older witch sound, and he felt strange as he listened Wyatt go on. "Never seen someone so damn eager to go to hell before. It's not a fucking joke, Dean."

Sam braced himself for Dean's sure to come yelling. He was surprised, however, when all his brother did was snort. It was an angry snort, and also a telling one—at that point Dean was clearly incapable of saying anything.

With a glare on his face he shoved past Chris, stalking into the foyer, where he pulled open the front door and slammed it behind him, hard enough to shake the frame.

Sam stared after Dean with a look that would rival a hurt puppy. He had nothing to say, knowing that he had deserved the reaction. He didn't want to admit that. Discomfort and worry took over his features.

"Thanks, Wy," Chris said flatly. He was obviously irritated, though whether with his own brother or with Dean was hard to tell. He gave a curt sigh. "We'll have to do this on our own. If he's gonna be a dick, then we'll just figure it out without him. He'll owe us. Hard-fucking-core owe us."

Wyatt, angry in his own right, turned toward Sam and groaned quietly. "_Anyway_. Sam, this is some _serious_ shit you guys stepped into. Where does Dean get off messing around with demons of that level?"

Sam thought the answer was obvious….

Wyatt opened the book Sam had been looking at earlier and flipped to a marked page, turning it so that the younger hunter could see. Listed first was the demon Azazel, a dark figure with glowing yellow eyes, and beneath him, a list of his closest followers—one of which they had pinpointed as the demon in question.

"You have no idea," was all Sam actually offered, freezing when he saw the picture of Azazel. A cold sort of fury ran through him like electricity, and he balled his hands into fists. There was something in the back of his mind…something unnaturally angry, and he had to look away to curb it; he knew that on some level it would take him over if he didn't stop it.

Chris raised a curious eyebrow. He then pointed toward the name of the topmost demon on the list. "This is the one. When we crossed referenced it in other books, all the data matched up. This demon works mostly in soul trading and power breaking. It took a hell of a lot of work to find it, but once we knew what his name was, he sort of popped up more and more."

Sam only looked at the demon in question when Chris finished speaking. "Dean would know for sure. I've never seen him."

"This Loto guy is pretty nasty," Wyatt said, bothered. "Worse than what we've come up against in a _long_ time. It's not gonna be easy, but…"

"I didn't think it would be." Sam spoke sincerely, and with clarity and determination. He picked up the book and ran his fingers carefully down the open page. "You said you were gonna scry for witches?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah. Wyatt and I figure he's gonna go after some more for his power collecting. A demon that high up probably goes out as often as he can. Our family's run across this kind of thing once before…but it was a little different then." He shrugged. "We'll figure it out, though. Right?" He turned to Wyatt.

"Yeah, we're gonna figure it out, Sam, don't worry." The blonde witch took a seat on the edge of the couch, and then pulled a stack of books with more marked pages toward him. He gestured for Sam to sit beside him. "We've marked a few incantations here that might help us, but we need to know exactly what the deal promised. I know that it was for your resurrection and one year on Dean's soul, and that he couldn't help you or find a way around it…but is that it? We don't want to get tripped up on any of the technical crap."

None of them had any idea that they had roused suspicion by simply having Dean around while they discussed the contract, nor had they realized the importance of the contract, and of Dean's soul to the demon they were pursuing. Dean was the last piece in the chess game that was Sam's humanity—by taking him out of the equation, Sam would ultimately become consumed by his anger and pain. Demons had taken his mother, his father, his girlfriend, and countless other innocent people who had meant something to him, and now they were within reach of taking his last link away.

There was also a revenge twist to it. After all, Dean had been the one to shoot Azazel, and the demon in question had looked up to his mentor with heavy admiration….

"That's pretty much the gist of it," Sam murmured, scratching his head thoughtfully. "Dean had me resurrected in exchange for his soul, and they gave him one year to live. He said he's not allowed to be involved in any way. But, I just took it to mean that he couldn't be involved _directly_ in trying to save himself, which was stupid. I guess he wants to make sure all precautions are taken care of…"

Maybe Dean thought Sam selfish for wanting to save him, since doing so risked Dean's deal burning out and Sam going six feet under again. But it was just as he had thought before—life without his brother was no life worth saving.

And Sam would be damned if he didn't try.

Chris tapping his finger against the page of one of the books brought Sam back into focus.

"All right. So, if we're gonna go this…I'm gonna go grab one of our maps from upstairs."

Chris disappeared upstairs, and Wyatt turned his torso to face Sam. "Okay, so he can't help himself. But, they never said anything about him being helped by a third party. That's good. Now…we can try to summon this demon to a safe location and deal with him there, with him trapped…that'd probably be the best." He rubbed his bottom lip. "The most important thing is to destroy the contract _before_ we destroy him. The last thing we want—or need—is for the contract to default and for both of you to die, or even just one of you."

"If you think it sounds good," Sam said, unsure of what else to say. After all, Chris and Wyatt had seen just as many evils and he and Dean had, but they dealt with them in ways that the two hunters would have never considered. Dealing with a demon of Azazel's caliber had killed both of them in the process, not to mention their father, too, and they were _still_ trying to get out of the aftereffects. And yet, here Chris and Wyatt were, alive, after having apparently dealt with something similar.

And even if Dean hated him for it, the idea of relying on people with intensely powerful gifts wasn't the worse thing in the world. Both witches were capable of so much more than they were, and could do things the two hunters could only imagine. Sam was envious.

He was about to say something else when his phone began to vibrate in his breast pocket. The ringtone filled the living room while Sam stared at the screen.

It was Dean.

He let it ring for a moment further, giving Wyatt and Chris—who had recently reappeared—a stare. He answered it with a wary, exasperated tone. "What?"

Dean's voice boomed through the speaker, along with the sound of stumbling and crashing. "Son of a _BITCH_!" There was a crackling sound that made Sam's blood run cold.

"Sam! Sam, it's _here_!"

What sounded like a struggle occurred over the line, and then a loud _thud_ that boomed in Sam's ear. He clutched his phone tightly.

"Dean, get out!" Sam shouted, knowing that the thud he had heard was Dean's phone clunking to the floor. His heart and mind seized for a moment as he tried to think of what he could say or do to fix this.

He didn't have to think hard. Before he knew it, Chris had grabbed his wrist and he felt that familiar sense of lightness as they orbed to the hotel room the hunters shared.

But it was too late for them. Loto had chosen to appear almost immediately after the phone call was made. As Sam, Chris and Wyatt materialized in the room, the demon, gripping Dean by the collar, smirked in their direction. Dean shouted out Sam's name, but none of them could react fast enough. Loto shimmered out of the room, taking the older hunter along for the ride.

Sam cursed so loudly that his voice felt hoarse. However, it was drowned out by the sound of their nearby bed lifting into the air and flipping around, landing on the hardwood floor with a loud _slam_. He jumped back, turning his eyes to Chris. The young witch was flush red in the cheeks, and he had a look of complete rage about him that was almost frightening.

Wyatt just rubbed his eyebrows with his hand. "_Fuck_."

. . .

Dean yelped when the demon threw him into a corner.

His focus was shot. His mind was shot. His body was _shot_. He could barely make anything out of what was happening to him. Before he knew it there was a heavy weight on his wrists. One jerking twist of his body let him know that he had been chained up. His eyes burst open and he looked around frantically, trying to make sense of what was going on.

It had happened so quickly. After having stormed out of the Halliwell manor, Dean had driven himself back to his hotel room, intent on drinking himself into a stupor. He had had about enough of Sam's kamikaze mission to save him, and was tired of trying to coerce him out of it.

He had been in the room all of five minutes when the lights had begun to flicker and some of the furniture had begun moving around. That was when he knew he was in trouble. The demon had appeared and thrown him around, knocking him into the wall and then slamming his head against the kitchenette table. The last thing Dean could fully remember was seeing Sam, Chris and Wyatt.

And now here he was, struggling against some rocky wall in a place about which he hadn't the faintest idea. Pain shot through his arms, throbbed in his head and pulsed in his wrists, but it wasn't enough to keep him from trying to figure out where he was. There being barely any light in the room made it hard for him to see much beyond the demon that now sat dangerously close.

Dean hadn't but a moment to gather his wits about him before there came a swift slap across his face which left a stinging sensation on his cheek. The smack knocked his head against the wall and pissed him off even more. He glared at the man before him, somewhat defiantly.

"You sulfur sucking son of a bitch! My soul ain't up for grabs _yet_."

Though he was bound quite tightly at the wrists, he soon realized that the demon had made the mistake of leaving his legs free. Dean used the leverage of his arms to lift himself, coiling one leg and kicking as hard as he could with his heavy boot directly at the demon's chest. He knew it wasn't going to help the situation, but he'd be damned if he didn't _try_ to fight.

His boot hit Loto square in the chest, sending him stumbling back with a wheezing grunt. He quickly scrambled to get up, recollecting himself and brushing his hands down his front. He scowled at Dean.

"Stupid move, Winchester."

He gave a wave of his hand, summoning another pair of chains that latched on tightly to Dean's ankles. Dean groaned as they cut into his skin, making him painfully aware of just how much his body ached. He writhed—or tried to, anyways—while the demon approached him again. Loto, still scowling, then hit him square in the jaw, the bones in his knuckles emitting a loud crack when they connected. Dean felt his teeth cut into the side of his cheek and he winced.

He wasn't going to give this demon the satisfaction of seeing him in pain, even if every inch of his body was teeming with it. Sputtering out a little bit of blood, Dean smirked. "That the best you got, bitch?"

"Not my best shot by far," Loto replied. "But you should know by now that I'm not so interested in your physical shell as I am your soul. I'll beat you within an inch of your life for going to _them_."

He gripped Dean's chin roughly with his hand, and then patted his cheek. His semi-long fingernails scraped along Dean's scruffy jaw line. "So smart of you to find a loophole in our contract. I'll have to remind my little friend the crossroads demon that she'll need to be more specific next time."

Dean's mouth smarted and he growled, nostrils flaring. The demon was _wrong_. Dead wrong. "I _didn't_ go to them," he spat out, voice full of hatred. "I've kept to your frickin' contract."

He pulled at his bonds and strained his arms. The nails were making his skin crawl. He turned his head but to no avail—he couldn't pull his face away.

"Mm, that's not what I heard," Loto said almost airily. "You Winchesters are too smart for your own good."

After a moment's pause the demon moved to stand, staring down at Dean almost as if surveying him for something. And then in a quick move his foot came in direct contact with Dean's exposed stomach, while the chains on his wrists tightened. It knocked the air right out of the hunter, who gave a pained cry and wrenched forward in an attempt to curl up. The clasps on his wrists and ankles were unbearable, and he could already feel his hands going numb. Not a good sign….

Coughing a few times, Dean finally wheezed out a sad little laugh, wincing as he stared up at Loto. A somewhat cocky grin overtook his face. "Kinky bastard."

"I'd be careful, Dean." Loto smirked. "I can nullify that contract if I want, and take your brother right back to Hell, where he belongs. So you should be on your _best_ behavior. Unless you want Sam swimming in a pit of fire."

That caught Dean's attention. He didn't know for sure whether or not that was a lie, since he had gotten a crossroads demon to break her contract with that man who had nearly been dragged off by hellhounds.

If it wasn't a lie and Sam died, Dean could never forgive himself.

Twisting a little in his bonds, he looked back to the demon, resentfully quiet. But even though his mouth was shut, his brain was still racing, trying to think of anything that could save him. It was finding depressingly little, which upset him.

Loto had a hard-to-read look on his face. Dean had the sneaking suspicion that he was attempting to read his thoughts. Did he have that power? Dean had stormed out of the manor so quickly that he hadn't gotten a chance to see what Loto was capable of.

"Your baby brother is so lucky to have someone like you…someone so willing to risk their life just to save another. You must not think you're worth much, Dean."

Dean curled his lip in a sneer and looked away, jaw set. If there was one thing he absolutely hated, it was being patronized, _especially_ be demons. It was even worse when they were _right_.

"What? At a loss for words?" Loto laughed dryly, disbelievingly. "I never thought I'd see the day…you were always one for saying things when they weren't necessary."

Dean felt a cold dread settle in the pit of his chest. He realized at that moment that he wasn't going anywhere without some kind of help. He would have to rely on Sam, Chris and Wyatt, and they didn't even know where he was. Hell, _he_ didn't even know.

His thoughts were interrupted by another powerful blow to his midsection. He cried out, breathing hard through his clenched teeth. He bit the wound in his mouth and began to bleed again, but he couldn't do anything about it. He shut his eyes tight.

He had to focus. This was only the tip of the iceberg. If he gave in now, who knew what would happen?

"You aren't…worth…the effort…" he sputtered out, voice strained and near breathless. Blood dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin.

"Mm…" The demon shook his head, chuckling darkly. "If you only knew, Dean. If you only knew…."

He stood then, but Dean's blurred vision could barely make out more than the outlines of his figure against the dark background of wherever they were. That figure grew smaller, but Dean kept on his guard. He knew better than to think that was the end of it.

And he was right. His restraints suddenly tightened—hard enough to cut the circulation completely from his extremities. He could feel the blood pulsing to the blocked points.

Loto chortled. "You aren't going anywhere, Dean."

"Fuck," Dean managed to spit out between shaky, tense breaths. Against his will he yelped, because, try as he might, the pain from the vice-like restraints was almost too much. He turned his head and looked at one of his wrists. Something warm trickled down his arm, and he realized he was bleeding. The clasp had cut right into his skin.

"So, tell me," Loto began almost conversationally, "what _possessed_ you to go to the Charmed Ones? Did you think they could actually help you? Because I don't believe you when you said you didn't go looking for help."

Dean gave a bleary blink of his eyes, attempting to sharpen their focus on the man not but a few feet away. He was standing near what looked like a table, but on the floor as he was, the hunter couldn't see what sat atop it.

"I _didn't_ go to them, you ass," Dean groaned, voice hoarse. He coughed, more blood spurting from his mouth and down his front. It was hot, sticky, tasted of copper and smelled even more so. "I didn't ask for…for help…sadistic black-eyed _bastard_." He writhed a little to try and ease the pain, but stopped at the grinding noises that came from his wrists. The last thing he needed was another bunch of broken bones.

"I'm not talking about just you, Dean. I meant you _and_ your brother...you're kind of like one unit sometimes, you know? Since you're both so mindless and poor in condition. You two can't seem to live without each other. It's actually rather pathetic."

_What crap_, Dean thought acidly. But the words cut through him, because they reminded him of the simple fact that Sam didn't need him nearly as much as he needed Sam. Sam had been the one to go off and start a new life. Sam had found a girlfriend, a college career, and had tried to make something of himself. What had Dean done? He had followed in his father's footsteps like a good little soldier—John's personal cadet. Dean had been the one to recruit Sam back into the life of hunting…not the other way around.

Dean was lost without Sam, but Sam was stronger than he was.

Looking away again, Dean felt a wave of nausea overtake him. Sam didn't deserve this…why couldn't he have just left well enough alone? They had a year together, but it looked like Dean's year was already coming to an early end.

A low, drawling chuckle made Dean groan. The demon was approaching him again.

"Did I render you speechless _again_? I'm par for the course today, aren't I?"

"Fuck you," Dean growled, distracted by his pain and the knowledge that however bad it was, it was nothing compared to what Hell would be like. Meg had told him once, while possessing Sam, that Hell was a cage of pain, flesh, blood and fear; the kind of place that even demons scrambled to get out of whenever they could.

Hell had always been so remote before, but now Dean was beginning to understand just how close it truly was, and fear was creeping into him. His blood ran hot with adrenaline, almost burning him as he sat there limply against the cold stone.

With Loto this close, Dean was able to see the smug look on his face. It only worsened as he cupped Dean's chin, squeezing hard. His thumb pressed directly into the sore located near his mouth. The hunter moaned weakly.

He _really _needed to stop getting so fucking close.

"Bet your friends are probably looking for you right now. Too bad they won't be able to find you."

"Sam'll find me…and then Chris'll knock you right back to Hell," he grunted, twisting his neck to pull away. A show of strength from the demon sent his face straight forward again. They were close enough now for Dean to smell the sulfuric odor emanating from his body.

"You'd like to think that. But, I bet after they try for a day or two, they'll give up. Your brother Sam probably couldn't give a damn about you, really. And as for the witch, he'll probably be happy you're gone. You're nothing but a nuisance to them both anyways, just like you've always been to everyone."

Dean did his best to ignore the hurtful words, knowing that they were designed to do just that: hurt. They were meant to break a person down and make them give up. But he was nothing if not a fighter. Despite the searing pain in his body, Dean sneered, eyes insolent. He refused to be broken.

Loto leered at him. "Sam'll probably be glad to be rid of you, anyway. We all know the only reason he hunts is because you brought him back into it. Without you in his life, he'll probably go back to trying to make something of himself. He was in college, wasn't he? Before you came along and ruined his future?"

Swallowing hard, the hunter briefly closed his eyes, feeling hot tears well up in the corners from the physical pain. Or maybe they were from the shock of the words that rang so true. Sam could have his own life if Dean weren't in the picture. It had been nothing but trouble for the both of them since they had reunited, and that all sat heavily on the older one's shoulders.

His hateful glare softened just a hair towards sadness, and again he shut his eyes. He said nothing, pressing his lips tightly together as he swallowed the large lump in his throat. The demon had found his sore spot and, try as he might, Dean couldn't hide it.

This appeased him. "Mm." He pulled away from Dean and stood. "We'll just let time pass and see what happens, hm? Should be interesting."

As Loto moved away, weariness settled into Dean. Blood dried in thin rivulets down his arms and coated his socks, as well as a good portion of his front and mouth. It hurt to breathe too deeply, and he could hear his shallow breaths coming in with a wheeze. There was no way he would fall asleep at this rate, but he sure as hell wouldn't be too far from blacking out. It would be a sweet escape.

Loto turned his heels, saying with a lofty tone, "I've got some things to do. People to see, powers to steal. Things like that. Hope you don't mind me leaving here."

There was a snap of his fingers, at which point Dean felt another heavy chain wrap around his bruised, sensitive midriff. He groaned, something akin to a pathetic, pained chuckle coming from him.

"Enjoy your stay."

With that Dean watched him shimmer out, and along with him went the lights, leaving the hunter in the cold dark of the rocky cave.


	12. Frustration

**Author's Notes: **Hi all! Chapter 12 here. As I'm sure you will see, this is a SHORT, short chapter. It wasn't intentional, really, but this scene would have only fit at the end of the last chapter, and I kind of wanted to leave it on a dramatic note, so I didn't include this. And since the next scene wouldn't do well with this attached, it gets its own chapter. I'm sorry about that, but you'll understand when you read next week's chapter, too. :D

I'm a little behind in writing, so I need to work on that this week, whenever I get the chance. Midterms and lots of reading are abound, so my free time is disappearing more and more each and every day. But I'm halfway through the next chapter, so as long as I can finish it and get it posted by Sunday, I'll have plenty of time to write more!

_Destatikai: _Yeah, Lilith in this story just wouldn't work. And that I think was before we knew a whole lot about her, if I remember right, so we were just like *makes up demons lolz!* and it worked for us. Loto was a character we sort of shifted back and forth in doing (though we never named him; I did for the story), which amuses me, because he's got a bit of both of our writing styles in him. I'm glad you can't wait to see :D But unfortunately, you're going to have to. At least another week, to say the least. ;D As for Dean, we mostly have Zane to thank for that, because he's got him down to a T, pretty much. I only modify a little bit what he wrote for Dean, so that it fits into what I change for the story.

_Politics and Prose: _Thank you! I was a little worried with the demon, since he's sort of nonexistent now that we know who actually held the contract, but! :D

_Angelkat2502: _Thanks so much!! Did you really read them all in a row? My goodness. That makes me feel so proud :D I'm glad you enjoyed them so much.

Again, sorry this chapter is so short in comparison to the others! Should be a quick read, though. Enjoy!!

* * *

Wyatt huffed. "Dean's year isn't up. If he took him, then that's a _good_ thing. That means we're on the right track."

Chris stared at his brother, the words going in one ear and right out the other.

He was still in shock from what had happened. The stupid demon had been _right there_, and somehow, he had still managed to away. Chris felt like a failure, and that feeling burned deep inside of him.

"We'll figure it out," Wyatt went on to say, looking from his brother to Sam. "This is just a snag in the road, is all. Come on, guys."

The words obviously were intended to boost their morale, but Chris didn't think it would do the trick. He was more pissed off than anything else—and Wyatt should have known that it was near impossible to get him out of those moods when they hit. Disappointment was the furthest thing from his mind, really.

He turned toward the bed that lay upside down on the hotel room floor. He righted it with a wave of his hand. Then he sighed.

"We'll find him," he said, noticing the way Sam was staring blankly forward, his eyes distant.

"Someone will definitely have heard something from in here," Wyatt murmured. He cleared his throat. "We should grab your stuff and the car and make like trees, Sam. Come on."

Wyatt moved over to the open duffle bag on the floor, out of which spilled several shirts and other garments of clothing. The bag suddenly dematerialized, as did the clothes, reappearing nearby on top of the bed, fully prepared and ready to go. The older witch turned to his brother, who wore a focused expression.

"Fuck personal gain," Chris muttered.

At this point, he couldn't care less whether or not personal gain did something to him. Dean was already taken, and although they knew the demon in question, that didn't make things even. Though Loto could by no means kill Dean, he could beat him within an inch of his life, and likely would. Just the thought of that upset Chris, who stiffened his jaw.

Sam spoke for the first time since the incident.

"Dean's keys." In two strides he was at the kitchenette table. He picked up his brother's keys and pocketed them. He turned to Wyatt and Chris. "Come on, let's go."

Wyatt, Chris and Sam abandoned the room post-haste. Sam hopped into the driver's seat and nearly screamed out of the parking lot, leaving fresh tire tracks along the way.

The thought briefly crossed Chris's mind that the patrons in the hotel would see them leave. But, he figured they would deal with that if the situation arose. For now, he had other things to think about.

It was a short trip back to the manor thanks to Sam's driving. As they pulled up Prescott Street, the young witch groaned.

_Of all the days for this to happen_, he thought.

"Mom and Dad's car is here…"

Wyatt leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of the front seat. He, too, groaned. They had done such a good job at keeping things quiet that Chris was sure his brother was thinking just the same thing he was: this was a problem—a very big problem.

To his surprise, what Wyatt said counteracted that, as did his tone. "They were bound to find out eventually…"

Sam sounded confused, but somewhat eager. "Maybe they can help us. I mean, your mom and aunts are the Charmed Ones, right? The most powerful witches ever? Maybe they can find out some way for us to get to Dean?"

"No," Chris said almost immediately, and when he did, Sam's expression grew somewhat angry. "No…what I mean is, we just—we can do this ourselves. We have Dean's things. We'll scry for him. And if we can't find him then it means he's in the Underworld somewhere. And even if that's the case, then we'll find some way to get ourselves to him, or him to us. We have those incantations to summon the demon. We'll modify them. We can do this."

Sam stayed quiet, for which Chris was thankful. But Wyatt sighed beside him.

"All right, Chris. We'll try to do it ourselves. But, if something starts going wrong, I'm telling Mom and Dad."

The car came to a stop alongside the curb, and all three climbed out. Chris stalked up the pathway toward the front door. Just as he was about to grab the handle, the door swung open. Mel, headphones in her ears and her attention elsewhere, bumped right into him, letting out a spooked yelp. Chris eyed her.

"God, Chris. Thanks for spooking me." Mel pulled out her headphones and looked from Chris to Wyatt and Sam. "What're you guys doing home?" she asked, perplexed. "I thought you had things to do today."

"Mel, hey." Wyatt furrowed his brow. "Some things have, uh…come up. You busy?"

Chris wondered if bringing Mel into the situation was the best thing to do. In a way, she would be better than their mother and aunts, but at the same time, she was young, and this was very, _very_ complicated.

"I was gonna go to the mall and hang out with Patty and Penny, but…" Mel shifted her gaze to Chris, whose face was tight with worry. "What's wrong?"

The two older witches shared a look before Wyatt guided Mel completely out of the house, shutting the door behind her. As Chris and Sam watched, he proceeded to brief her on what had just happened. By the end of it, Chris figured that yes, it probably _was_ better that she know, and that she get in on it sooner than later. If it was going to take the Power of Three…

"So," Wyatt finished with a sigh, "we might need you. We don't even know where Dean is right now. We're gonna try and find him."

It never ceased to amaze Chris how serious his sister could become when the moment called for it. In a move reminiscent of their mother, Mel brushed her hair over her shoulder and nodded. "Just let me know. I'll help however I can. I'll be at Aunt Phoebe's later."

"Thanks," Chris and Sam said at the same time. They looked at each other.

Wyatt rubbed his hands together. "Come on, guys, let's go up to my room. We need to figure out what to do next."

As they parted ways with Mel, Chris waited for a moment and watched her make her way down the steps. He really hoped it wouldn't have to come down to needing her….

The three of them walked into the house with Chris soon leading the way. If necessary, he was fully prepared to distract his parents and keep them from questioning what was going on. Thankfully, they didn't have to worry about that. Wherever Piper and Leo were, they weren't anywhere on the ground floor, which gave Wyatt, Chris and Sam the green light to go straight upstairs and into the bedroom the two witches shared.

"All right, I just—I need that spell." Chris pat himself down. He blanched, realizing something. "_Shit_."

"What?" Sam asked.

"We left the books downstairs!"

"I'm on it."

Wyatt waved his hands upward, and in a split second the large collection of books from downstairs appeared on his bed, stacked neatly into three petite piles.

Focusing on the book with the summoning spell—whose name escaped him currently—Chris held his hands out, palms up. "_Book_." The required book orbed into his hands, with the page staring him right in the face. Without a second thought to it he took it over to his desk so that he could rewrite the summoning spell.

"What can I do?" Sam asked. His movements were tense, indicating just how ill at ease he felt.

Wyatt pressed his lips together. "You guys know wards, don't you? You had them when we first saw you. Do you know any for demons?"

"Off of the top of my head, just the basics," Sam replied. "I mean, the salt barriers and traps, stuff like that." The tone of his voice gave away more of his discomfort. After a few moments he suddenly asked, "How's the spell coming?"

Chris felt strangely confident about his rewrite. He didn't know for sure if it would work, but he hoped to high heaven that it would.

"I'm done."

He walked over to the two and gripped Wyatt's arm, then gestured for his brother to take hold of Sam's. Once they were all grasping hold of one another, he began to chant:

"_Demon of tricks, demon of lies, no longer shall you hide behind your disguise. With this power we reveal all, and so shall appear beside you with our call._"

Chris expected to be lifted away and carried to Loto's lair, but he didn't feel himself going anywhere. When nothing happened at all, he grew quickly frustrated. Was the wording wrong? Was it something else?

"What the hell!"

Wyatt sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Son of a bitch."

"Why didn't it work?" Sam inquired, somewhere between mildly frantic and exasperated.

"He's probably got wards up, just like I thought before, and _forgot_." Chris was so angry with himself for having done something so stupid. He should have thought it through…he should have considered all angles, as he always did.

Maybe Wyatt was right. Maybe this issue with Dean was clouding his better judgment. These were elementary mistakes he was making, and it was killing him.

"Come on," he announced. "We're gonna scry for him."

With a groan, Wyatt said in complaint, "If he's got wards up, it's gonna make scrying a bitch. He could be _anywhere_, and even with the both of us looking, it'll take forever." He stared at Sam momentarily. But, he relented. Giving another sigh, he went to the smaller of the two bookshelves in his room, tugging down a couple of maps. He placed them on Chris's bed.

"Let's start with the U.S. map first and narrow it down from there," Chris suggested. "Once we figure out where they are, we'll have to find a way in. Who knows what he's got protecting the place."

Loto the demon power breaker was going to regret messing with them, he thought angrily. Of Piper's three children, Chris was by far the most resilient and focused.

They would find this demon…and when they did, he was going to pay. Oh, he was going to pay.

Chris called for a scrying crystal, looking around for a moment before also summoning one of Dean's shirts from the bag Wyatt had brought in. With it balled up in his hand along with the chain for the crystal, he began swirling it in large arcs over the map. Wyatt followed suit, taking the map of California and swirling his crystal around it with Dean's cell phone in his hand.

This continued for at least a few minutes; the silence had grown to a thick miasma that hung heavily in the air. The scrying seemed to come to no avail. Wyatt looked up at Sam, disappointment stricken into his features.

Sam reached out to grip hold of Wyatt's wrist. "Here, try it now."

Chris looked up. He supposed that was a smart move, since there seemed to be nothing nearer and dearer to Dean's heart than his brother. For a while nothing different happened. But, soon the crystal's arcs tightened, which excited the older witch. However just as soon as the crystal seemed to react it stopped, leaving them right back where they started.

"Damn it," Wyatt muttered. "Almost…." He blinked, glancing up at his brother with an idea glinting in his eyes. "Hey. Chris. You and Sam might be able to get a better link."

Chris didn't stop the crystal's broad swoops across the map as he extended his free hand for Sam to take. The younger hunter's hand was much larger than his, and warmer, too, but he ignored that fact as he focused harder on Dean's face, his laugh, and his smile. Anything to keep his image vividly fresh in his mind.

"If this doesn't work…" he trailed off.

Wyatt stopped scrying to lend his power to Chris; he gripped his brother's shoulder and stared down at the map of the United States intently. Chris felt like his own stare would burn a hole through it, so focused as he was. He could feel the crystal's gentle jerks this way and that, but he paid them no mind until the crystal suddenly began spinning, changing direction mid-arc. It quickened its pace and had seemed to hone in on something, but as soon as Chris's spirits rose, the crystal shifted, swinging freely once more.

The young witch felt like something inside him might snap then. It was hard for him to deal with this, especially now since the crystal had no idea where it was going. The wards Loto had up were far too powerful for them to even try piercing through.

After a few moments Chris finally just gave up, loosening his grip on the crystal and Dean's shirt. Both fell onto his bed.

"I don't think we're gonna break through," he murmured, trying not to sound as defeated and frustrated as he felt. "I hate saying it, but we might just have to…wait."

He expected Sam to yell at him, or even to sneer, growl—something to signify his frustration.

Sam's response was the complete opposite. The younger hunter gave a solemn nod, running his hand over his face. "You're right. We're all just exhausted and totally unfocused right now."

"We need to get some rest and come at this when we've had time for the shock to wear off," Wyatt said, sounding pained as he said it. He felt horrible, and Chris could tell. Wyatt never liked waiting if he didn't have to. "Sam, Stay here with us, all right? You need to rest just as much as Chris and me. Dean isn't going anywhere right now, and we'll not be a damn bit of good to him if we can't get our spells and everything focused."

Sam sounded disappointed. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

Chris sure as hell hoped they were.


	13. Taking Back What's Mine

**Author's Notes: **I'm afraid it's been slow going on getting up the later chapters, mostly because I'm trying to decide at which point I want to cut the story off to keep it sensible, but to be able to continue it if I want later on down the line. I hope that made sense. Basically, there's a ton more RPs to go through, but I think for the sake of not getting repetitive and elongating the story past what I would consider its prime, I'm only going for a few more; the only issue is deciding what one I want to stop at. Anyway, I have a week to write chapter 14 (I know, I suck!), so I'm hoping to get that done. I have one scene of it finished. I've just been really busy lately, and RL things have been preventing me from writing too much. Plus, as is usually the case with stories this long, I'm getting winded. But, I'm doing my best!

_angelkat2502: _Wow! It makes me happy to hear someone would sit and read through the entirety of my story thus far in one sitting. Haha! I hope the rest of the later chapters are that appealing to you. :D

_elfwarrior87: _So close indeed. Closer than you might think, given this chapter. ;)

_Zane: _The random Russian...Kostya on your mind, love? Hehehe. Also, I dunno if you read the other reviews, but Destatikai is complimenting your Dean. :D

_Destatikai: _I was thinking the same thing in terms of weight of the chapter...it would have been way too much to go from them preparing to them doing it without so much as some downtime in between. Here, at least, that's changed a little bit. Plus, this needed to be its own chapter, because I wasn't sure how long it would be. But, after not including certain scenes (like one toward the end between Wyatt and Chris--I might regret that decision, but we'll see, and one between Wyatt and Sam just after that), it shortened it some. So! And hahahaha. I'm glad you like Mel. She's a spunky little one, and I love writing her based on the Mel that's in my Charmed stories. :P

All right everyone! The big return scene is at hand! Enjoy, and let me know what you think!!

* * *

Tonight was the night.

Sam was anxious, and he knew that both Wyatt and Chris shared the sentiment. The three of them had prepared and prepared, toiling through long nights and early mornings to try and find some way to get to Dean. When one road proved ineffective, they went a different route; it had taken far longer than any of them would have liked in order to find precisely the right path to take, but all that mattered was that they had done so.

They had also managed to devise a plan to save Dean.

Finding the right way had happened almost by accident. While Wyatt gathered something up from the kitchen for them to snack on, Sam and Chris sat at the small café table in the sunroom, attempting to scry for Dean once again. Through some miracle, Chris had managed to hone in on the area where he was, and with Sam's help, they discovered the location.

Though they had attempted to orb in, it was impossible—powerful magic protected the lair, and there was no getting through without some serious barrier breaking.

After their unsuccessful attempt at barging in, Sam did his best to help Wyatt and Chris with breaking down the wards that were there through the use of extensive magic—the likes of which he would have been killed for using, had his brother known.

But, Sam felt reinvigorated by the prospect of being able to get Dean, despite both the physical and emotional exhaustion he suffered from because of it. He was currently in Chris and Wyatt's room, waiting for Chris to perform the spell in his hands that would take them to Dean.

"All right, we ready?" The younger witch bit his lower lip.

He looked about as nervous as Sam felt.

"I doubt we can get _more_ ready," Wyatt said. He glanced around him at the scattered mess of books, maps, paper, clothes and empty food wrappers that lay about the bedroom. His eyes lingered on the pile of comforters and pillows that Sam had been sleeping on.

"If things get bad, Sam…stay behind us, okay?"

Sam nodded, although he doubted he truly would. Dean was his brother, and he was going to do anything he could in order to save him. Chris and Wyatt may have had a better grasp of their powers, but that didn't mean Sam was completely useless. He was well trained and knew how to hold his own.

He holstered his gun, looking from one witch to the next. He also had a few darts packed into a holder on the other side of his waist, as well as the customary flask of holy water. He wasn't going to take any chances.

Chris said after a pause, "It's now or never."

All three men took a step closer to one another, forming a triangle in the middle of Chris and Wyatt's room. They joined hands while Chris chanted:

"_Demon of tricks, demon of lies, no longer do you have a disguise. With our power we reveal all, appearing beside you with our call._"

Unlike before, the spell activated in a flourish of white and gold orbs, which surrounded Sam, Chris and Wyatt and transported them from the Halliwell manor to a dark, dank area with a pungent aroma of moss and greenery. The inside was cool, and sounds reverberated all about them.

They had been transported directly into a cave.

Chris groaned. "God, do demons _ever_ have a not dark and ugly place to live?"

"I think it goes with the territory." Wyatt chuckled. "Nasty creatures, nasty living space. You know, like maggots."

"Where are you guys?" Sam asked as he felt around in the dark. He could barely make anything out. Had he thought ahead, he would have brought a flashlight.

"Oh, I'm over here. Hang on a sec."

Wyatt's voice continued down through the cave, fading until it disappeared completely. A couple of seconds later a bright collection of white-blue lights burst into the air above them, giving the cave an incandescent glow. The pale skin of both Wyatt and Chris illuminated with a bluish tint.

"Nice trick," Sam commented, glancing upward. "Won't it give us away?"

Wyatt snorted. "You think I'm worried?"

_I would be_, Sam thought to himself. _But then, I'm not the most powerful witch on Earth._

"Nah."

Chris laughed, and the three of them began trekking through the cave. There was clutter everywhere—collections of rocks, crates, nets and all other sorts of strange paraphernalia were scattered along the narrow corridor. The light above them guided them through to a large, circular, open area, with a high ceiling formed by jagged rocks.

Sam had barely passed through into the cavern when a vision assaulted him. A painful snapshot of his brother beaten and bloody against a wall flashed in his mind, causing him to groan and stumble to the side. He gripped his head as Chris reached out and helped him to keep his balance.

"Wyatt, wait!" he called after his brother.

"I can see Dean," Sam gasped through gritted teeth. "He's…God, what the fuck did the demon do to him?" He closed his eyes and hissed in pain as another vision hit him. This one lasted longer, and this time, he saw the binds that held Dean in place. There were scars on his wrists, and blood dampened his jeans….

Wyatt stopped at Chris's command, turning back and moving closer. He looked worried. "If he's here, then he's alive, Sam, that's all that matters!" His words were quick. He reached down to take hold of Sam's other arm. "Where is he? Can you see him?"

"I can't tell," Sam grunted. He attempted to open his eyes, but the split vision between what was in his head and what was physically before him made him ill. It hurt to see Dean's body lying there so helpless, in obvious pain. He tightened his grip on Chris's sleeve, trying to keep himself as steady as possible.

But just as quickly as the visions came, they were gone, leaving Sam with the same head-throbbing pain that got him each and every time. He panted a few times and rubbed at his eyes, about to let go of Chris when he was abruptly forced to.

"Fireball!" he heard Chris shout.

A few yards away from them Sam's somewhat bleary eyes focused on what looked to be six, maybe seven demons. They glowed an eerie blue in the magical light, but what Sam focused on was the fireball that seemed to slingshot right back at one of the demons, lighting him ablaze and causing him to explode.

"Stupid—!"

Sam watched with somewhere between horror and fascination as Chris waved his arm across his front. A visible tidal wave of energy flew toward the demons, lifting some right up into the air while others went flying to the side to dodge it.

"Take Sam and find Dean," Chris ordered, eyes serious and focused on Wyatt. He quickly turned back to Loto's minions and waved his hand again. A nearby boulder nestled in the crook of the wall tore away and flew across the gravel-and-sand covered floor. To Sam it looked as if someone were skipping a pebble across the surface of a pond—effortless.

Wyatt grasped a tighter hold of Sam's arm and hauled him along the right-hand side of the cavern. "Come on, Sam, let's go!"

Before Wyatt managed to pull them into a thin side path dug into the cavern wall, Sam caught Chris lifting up his hands and clapping them together. Two of the larger demons launched off of the ground and slammed into each other. Before they hit the ground Chris sent them flying with another wave of his hand; they came in contact with a nearby stalagmite, upon which the dark haired witch impaled them. Flames consumed the demons as they died—the last image Sam saw before Wyatt pulled him completely into the narrow passageway.

"He's gotta be around here somewhere," Wyatt muttered to himself. "I can't sense him, though. This is—Sam!"

Sam gripped hold of Wyatt just in time to keep himself from collapsing on the ground. Another flash of Dean entered his head, and in it, he could see a similarity between the passageway just beside his brother and the one in which he currently found himself.

When he came to and it seemed he was vision free, Sam spat out, "He's not far from here. We're close!"

"Show me, Sam," Wyatt said. "We've gotta hurry. Chris can handle those guys, but he won't be able to handle their master alone."

"He's…" Sam paused only for a moment to think, "He's this way."

He had seen a particular curve in the path from the flashing vision, one that matched up well with what he currently saw before him. He bounded for it, with Wyatt at his side. At the end of the tunnel was a manmade archway, through which they found entrance to Loto's lair. The amount of light was abysmal, but Wyatt made no move to produce any more for them. Like Sam, he was shocked at the sight that lay before them.

What little brightness there was in the small lair shed light on Dean's form, battered, bruised and bloody against a stone wall. Dean looked malnourished, sick, and deathly pale. Sam's stomach lurched, and he gave a dry-heave. It was painful to see his brother in such a state.

"Dean," he said, kneeling down beside him and wanting to touch, but not knowing where, or even if it was safe to do so. "Dean, can you hear me?"

Now up close, Sam saw the contusions and cuts that littered his brother's face. His body, sick with adrenaline, began shaking, but he held it in as best he could. Dean's eyes shifted, but they were glazed over and looked unfocused. It scared Sam.

"Dean? It's me. It's Sam."

His tone grew stronger with each and every word, but it didn't seem to get through to Dean. His brother could barely stir. Sam turned to Wyatt, swallowing a thick lump of worry that had lodged in his throat.

"Is there anything you can do? We need to break these chains and get him out of here."

As Wyatt opened his mouth to speak, Chris appeared in a swirl of orbs. He cut his older brother off.

"The demon's here. We have to destroy the contract, _now_."

At his statement, both Sam and Wyatt looked around them. It was then that the older witch noticed a small, worn wooden chest just to the side of Dean's feet. He picked it up, staring at it.

"What is that?" Sam asked.

"I dunno," Wyatt replied. "Maybe it's the box with the contract?"

"Who cares what it is, just destroy it!" Chris barked.

A choked groan escaped from Dean's throat then and grabbed hold of Sam's attention. He turned to his brother, watching Dean press his cracked lips together and swallow roughly. He was trying to say something, but whatever it was got lost, becoming a wheeze. Dean's eyes watered and he clenched them shut—he looked to be in excruciating pain.

"Dean, hang on, we're gonna fix this!" Sam said.

"Damn it!" Wyatt cursed. "This box has got too powerful of magic for me to open it with my powers. _Excalibur_!"

Sam craned his neck around just in time to watch the legendary blade of kings materialize in Wyatt's hands. With a swift shift of the gleaming blade Wyatt turned it downward and impaled the lock on the chest, causing it to break with a loud clatter that made Dean's body twitch.

The chest opened, revealing piles and piles of scrolls buried inside. They were magicked to all fit, and were too small to determine which was whose. They would never find Dean's before Loto arrived, at this rate.

Wyatt dismissed Excalibur and knelt down to pick up the chest. "We have to burn them. We'll never be able to find just Dean's in there. We've got to burn them _all_."

Sam looked back and forth, his attention split between the witches and Dean. He tried to keep an eye on his brother while also attempting to make sense of what the other two were doing. He heard Chris murmur something about it being no problem to burn them all, and he watched as the witch pulled out a thin vial, which he threw with force onto the pile of contracts. Brilliant orange and red flames burst with a loud _whoosh_, and Chris and Wyatt jumped back. The fire consumed the papers within, singeing and charring them to a crisp.

As the fire within the box died down, Sam saw another burst of flames nearby. But they formed into a dark, daunting figure—Loto. He waved his hand across the front of him much like Chris had, and this time, it was the young witch and Wyatt who went flying.

"You really are _stupid_, witch, if you think you'd banish me—_NO!_"

Loto gave a harsh screech of rage at the sight of his contracts burning. A pair of fireballs immediately formed in his hands. Sam pulled his gun out quicker than he ever had before, but his shot went without a target; Loto went soaring through the air and hit the nearby wall, hard.

Sam watched Chris, arm extended, scramble to his feet and over toward his brother, whom he helped up. The two huddled together as Chris pulled out another piece of paper from within the folds of his pocket. There was rage in his gaze—a rage that Sam had never before seen, but could completely understand.

He watched the two perform the spell, morbidly curious as the demon Loto froze in place, howling in severe pain. His body then gave a few unnatural jerks and twists before he collapsed to the floor in a heap of blood red flames. All that was left of him in the end was a singed collection of clothing.

With the demon gone, Chris and Wyatt moved closer to Sam and Dean. Sam swallowed and opened his mouth to say something, but Chris just shook his head, reaching out with his hands and sending the chains across the room with his orbing abilities. Dean slumped against the wall, and Sam helped keep him steady.

"I'll heal him," Chris murmured.

Sam had never—and probably would never—truly understand how Chris and Wyatt's powers worked. This capacity to heal was unbelievable, and although he had seen it once, seeing it here again rendered him speechless. As Chris guided his hands over Dean's face, wrists, stomach, and all along his body, the glowing golden light left an immaculately healed space behind. It even removed the crusted blood from Dean's wrists and mouth. It was unbelievable.

Dean awakened as if from a deep sleep, gasping and opening his eyes. He stared blankly into nothingness at first, but as his eyes came into focus he looked from Sam to Chris. A weak laugh escaped him and he lifted both arms to lay a hand on each of their shoulders. He gripped so tight it hurt, but Sam was thankful.

God, was he _thankful_.

"God, Dean," Sam whispered.

They had been through a hell of a lot of things before, but this really took the cake—especially now that the contract on Dean's life was gone. He was free.

_Free_.

Dean tugged his brother close, arm circling tightly around his shoulders. He pressed his head against the side of Sam's shaggy hair, and the younger hunter couldn't help but smile. He felt proud of himself, and of what they had accomplished.

After a few moments Dean pulled back, smiling all the while. He patted Sam's neck and then turned to Chris. As Sam shifted his weight from one leg to the other, he watched as his brother kissed the witch, hard and fierce.

For once, he didn't think or say anything about what was happening. Chris had done more than his fair share in saving Dean, and the two deserved a moment. Sam looked away, to Wyatt, who just smirked a little.

"Told you we'd save him," Chris murmured eventually. That Sam knew was directed toward him, and he snorted in quiet amusement.

"Where's my kiss?" Wyatt joked. He gave Dean's shoulder a small shake. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here, guys. Not the best place for a reunion."

He offered Dean a helping hand up, who took it and came to a wobbling stance with the added help of Sam.

. . .

Upon their arrival back to the witches' room, Wyatt and Sam guided Dean toward Chris's bed, gently setting him down.

"I'm gonna go get him some soup," Chris announced. "I'll be back."

"I'll go with ya," Wyatt said. "We could use something to drink, too."

As Chris and Wyatt left, Sam tugged up their desk chair around Wyatt's bed to Dean's bedside. He gripped his brother's shoulder to let him know that he was still there.

Dean closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. His words came out in a rough tone. "Thank you, Sammy…."

"It wasn't just me," Sam said, his grip tightening some.

It was hard for him to believe that they had gotten Dean back. Sam had believed in them, of course, and in what they were capable of, but in those few short days, he had experienced the entire rainbow of human emotions. Right now all he could feel was immense relief. It overshadowed all of the fear, the doubt, and the worry that had been inside of him just hours previous.

"Chris…Jesus," he continued. "You should have seen him. Freaking wonder witch, I'll tell you."

Dean smiled and let out a small laugh from deep within. He sighed and, in a tone that rang with complete sincerity that could only be induced by exhaustion, said, "I really like him…"

What Dean said didn't quite faze Sam, because he knew. He could tell. And even if on some level it was still odd to Sam, he wasn't going to deny his brother his happiness if he could help it. _Especially_ not now—not when they had managed to fix things up with the contract. No more borrowed time.

"I know," Sam said quietly. He didn't say anything more than that. They could share the information of the contract being broken later, when things were a little more solid and comfortable.

Things remained silent between them for a few moments, Dean nuzzling his face into Chris's pillow and shifting slightly on the bed. The smile from his face soon began to fade, and Sam could tell something was wrong.

"He said awful things, Sammy…" Dean murmured, brow furrowing. "I thought you weren't coming…I thought that was it…" There was pain in his voice, but most worrisome was the sound of defeat that rang within it.

"I'll _always_ be there," Sam replied seriously. To prove it, he reached out and gripped his brother's hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "Dean."

Sam wasn't surprised in the slightest by the fact that Loto would say such things to Dean. In fact, he would have been surprised to hear that he _hadn't_ said those sorts of things. It would take Dean some time to get over that; psychological trauma was harder to reverse than anything else, after all. And for someone as psychologically troubled as his brother was….

But they didn't need to worry about that right now. Like Sam always did, he set it to the side to be dealt with later.

Or he tried to. Dean let out a shuddering sigh, and he sunk into the bed. He sounded vulnerable, which was unlike him. "I don't want to leave you, Sammy. I don't wanna go to Hell…"

Dean pulled Sam's hand close, holding it against his chest as if reluctant to let his brother go. Sam didn't pull away and instead even scooted closer when Dean did so. He didn't want to deny him this need to be close, especially in such a vulnerable moment.

Maybe it was time to share the truth, Sam thought, even if it was a little early. Dean sounded like he needed it.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that anymore."

For a moment, Dean remained quiet. Then, as it sunk in, he tried to push himself up, clinging to his brother's hand.

"What?" he said in disbelief.

Sam, with a firm hand, gently guided Dean back down toward the bed. "I said, you won't have to deal with it again. And don't get up. You need to rest." He spoke with a soft, but unyielding tone. He didn't want to frustrate Dean further by coddling him. However, he did need to relax.

"How the hell did you manage that?" Dean asked. He shook his head. "Actually, you know what? Never mind. I just want to enjoy this. Fuck questioning it. For now, at least…."

At this point Chris and Wyatt reappeared in the doorway. Chris was saying, "We'll just have to keep them away from Aunt Phoebe."

Sam looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Aunt Phoebe?"

Chris snorted.

Dean's stomach gave a low, long rumble that made him snort and that caught Sam's attention. "_Please_ tell me that's food, and that it's for me." He sounded almost desperate, but amused just the same.

"Yes, it's for you," Chris said, taking a seat at the front of his bed, near Dean's head. "And our Aunt Phoebe…she's an empath. The last thing we need is her coming over and figuring out everything that's been going on. Like…the hex, and all of that."

Wyatt snorted, handing Sam a mug of hot cocoa and then setting Dean's on the nightstand beside Chris's bed. "She'd know right away. She's like a mind reader."

Sam, after letting Dean's hand go to take the proffered mug, sipped carefully at the cocoa, intrigued by the statement about their aunt. He had read something about her skills ages ago, but had since forgotten it. "She doesn't come over too often, does she? That'd make it…hard."

"Like once a week," Chris explained. "But she's been busy lately, and I think she and Mom went out for dinner to catch up this week instead of her coming over." Shifting the soup, he glanced down at Dean with a small smile. "Think you can feed yourself?"

Dean smirked. "Nah…I'm feeling weak. Could you?"

Sam glanced at his brother, and then at Chris, who smiled wider. The witch wasn't going to fall for that, was he?

Apparently, he was. Chris dipped the spoon into the rich tomato and basil soup in his hand, then lifted it and hovered it near Dean's mouth. Dean leaned in and sipped it, a satisfied look taking over his face.

Dean was fully capable of feeding himself, that much Sam knew. But, his brother had always been the type to milk things for more than what they were worth, and when such kindness was offered, Dean was on it like white on rice. It didn't help any that it was Chris, who was very much attracted to.

"It shouldn't be too bad," he said. "Getting settled somewhere else, I mean. Dean should be fine once he gets a good night's sleep and a meal. _I'll _be driving, by the way," Sam added as an afterthought.

Wyatt, who had taken a seat on his bed, nodded. "You guys can stay here tonight. You're more protected here, anyway—I bet demons out there right now are _fuming_ over what we pulled."

"You know they are," Chris said, irritable. He fed Dean another spoonful of soup, who offered a quiet 'mm' as he swallowed. "They can just wait. We've got plenty of demons on our ass as it is. We really don't need any more. And if they come after me—"

"Then they're gonna burn," Sam interjected. He laughed. "Jesus, Chris, I've never seen anyone do something like that before. And Wyatt, with that sword, I…" Sam hadn't admitted it, but he had been pretty damn scared at that moment. After all, he'd never seen someone _summon_ a weapon before, let alone a mythic sword of legend.

Wyatt grinned brightly. "Pretty awesome, huh? Not many people get to see the _real_ Excalibur."

Chris rolled his eyes, but Sam, his head turned toward the other witch, missed it. "So how did you—I mean, you know. How did you get that sword?" Having read lore upon lore about how Excalibur had been handled and passed along throughout the ages, he thought that it had disappeared when the records did. Apparently it hadn't.

"Well, it kind of came to me," Wyatt explained. "I was like…a year old, I think. Somewhere around there. My mom pulled it out of the stone—you could say she was the Lady of the Lake—and it's…well, it's mine, now. But I don't really get to use it much."

"You don't _need_ to," Chris murmured.

"Whatever."

Sam ignored the brief quip and remained fascinated by what Wyatt told him. How often did you get to hear things like this? He wanted to soak it up.

"Oh, that's _awesome_. Seriously. It just…it just came to you?"

"Yeah, it sort of picks its master every generation, I guess, and is passed on. Not that it gets a lot of use here…I can't really go around with King Arthur's sword strapped to my waist, now can I?" Wyatt shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink.

Sam was mesmerized by the idea of having Excalibur. He and Dean had seen some crazy things in their lives as hunters, but the sword of legend definitely took the cake. "Yeah, guess you can't, can you? But you've got powers…so why use the sword?" From what he could tell, Wyatt had a lot of things going for him.

No wonder they fought demons so much. Having that much power…if you didn't use it, you'd probably go nuts.

Lost as he was in his conversation with Wyatt, he hadn't realized Dean and Chris had started one of their own. As Wyatt began to speak, Sam heard Dean say something about the soup being 'the best soup ever'.

"I dunno. That's kind of like asking why do you use your legs to walk when you've got a car. You see what I mean?" Wyatt laughed. "I've had Excalibur for about as long as I've had my powers. I mean, I wasn't allowed to _use _it right away, but it's been a part of my life for a long time. I don't really use it very often, but tonight was an emergency."

"Yeah, it was," Sam agreed. "And that potion Chris had…damn." He shot a brief glance back at the dark haired witch, who was giving his brother a kiss. He turned his attention again to Wyatt. "Think you guys could teach me some of that?"

Wyatt's eyes lit up. "Oh, sure. Why don't we go up to the attic? I'll show you some stuff."

*

Dean stared at Chris, wondering what the other saw when he looked at him the way he was at that moment. He knew he had looked horrific just hours before, bloody and near dead. Now he was only weary, with not a scar to prove the kidnapping. But despite everything that had just happened to him, he felt relieved, and looked content. He touched the witch's cheek, leaning back and pulling Chris down into a kiss.

When they broke apart, Dean felt a tingling in his lips. It felt good to have that kind of sensation again.

Chris knit his brow for a moment. He spoke softly. "I'm…really glad you're okay. I was so worried."

The admittance did something to Dean that he didn't quite understand in his tired state. He had to swallow the lump in his throat for the second time that night because of the emotion welling up inside of him. He wasn't going to Hell, he had his baby brother, safe and close, and he had Chris, who had healed him, bringing him back from the edge of death. He owed the witch his life two times over.

Dean offered a mildly awkward sort of smile, brushing his fingers down Chris's cheek. "I'm okay now. No more worrying, got it?" He leaned in and pressed his forehead against Chris's, their noses rubbing together. In a deceptively soft voice, he asked, "Can I lay here tonight?"

There was something in the way that Chris responded that let Dean know he had had no intention of letting him sleep anywhere else. "Of course you can."

Dean sighed, seemingly letting out all the air in his chest as he sagged against the pillow, eyes closed and his hand still lightly touching Chris's neck.

This was heaven for him—and it wasn't even because he and Chris had some weird sexual relationship. Rather, it was because he knew that Chris _cared_ about him, just like Sam cared about him. But Sam was his brother, and despite the hugs and the affectionate shoves and slaps and nudges…they didn't have anything this _close_. This was the kind of thing Dean needed, whether he admitted it or not.

Pulling Chris down with him, Dean kept their faces close, one arm wrapping tiredly around the other's waist and resting there. It didn't matter that the bed was narrow and crowded; they wouldn't have taken up any more space if it had been a king size. Not if Dean got his way.

The warmth of the body beside him and the comfort of Chris's hand that came to rest on his chest slowly began lulling Dean to sleep. He twisted slightly on the bed, shifting his leg and pushing it gently between Chris's. His arm was still around the other's waist, and his other arm soon joined it, draping limply there as he settled in.

It only took a few moments for him to fall asleep.


End file.
